


Tales From The Wrong Side Of The Avenger

by ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal



Series: The XCOM Anthology Set [1]
Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal/pseuds/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal
Summary: A series of semi-connected snapshots, both long and short-ish, of day to day life for XCOM.Under Revision





	1. Preface

_**I think the intro is too flowery, but Mom thinks it's better than my previous version, which spent more time insulting potential readers about how much time they spent reading New Teen Paranormal Romance books rather than it did introducing this haphazard collection of** **relics.**_ _  
_

_\- A hastily scribbled note, found taped to a paper entitled "Potential Intro?"_

//

In the annals of history, The Great War, the twenty-two year conflict that raged from 2015 to 2037, will be long remembered as a conflict that decided the very fate of humanity.

In early 2015, The Elders, leaders of an alien coalition composed of themselves and whatever races they had enslaved, invaded Earth, seeking to add the homeworld of mankind to their collection. In response, the Extraterrestrial Combat Unit, more commonly known as XCOM, was activated to fight the threat. Led by The Commander, XCOM won a number of battles against the Elders, but despite their efforts, humanity was outmatched and outgunned by the alien invaders, and XCOM was subsequently destroyed when an attack on their underground headquarters in the United States of America resulted in the death of most of the organization's personnel and the kidnapping of The Commander. Desperate to preserve their own power, many leaders of Earth surrendered their respective nations in exchange for seats on the newly formed ADVENT Coalition, and the conquerors of Earth subsequently claimed the war that had left millions dead was an innocent misunderstanding, brought on by warmongers and terrorists.

They said the war was over. In truth, The Great War had only begun.

For twenty years, the ADVENT Administration preached their lies and claimed everything they did was for the good of humanity, while silencing all those who questioned the new order and committing atrocity after atrocity in the name of the Elders. For many, hope seemed lost, with XCOM destroyed and the nations of Earth disbanded and consumed by the one-world order ADVENT had created, it seemed that our fate as a species was to forever serve the Elders.

But what remained of XCOM, along with those who were brave enough to fight on and those among the aliens who saw the error of their ways, continued the fight against the Elders. They operated in secret, establishing a global Resistance, hoping that one day, XCOM could rise up from the ashes of defeat and take their revenge upon those that enslaved our planet. And in 2035, they finally succeeded, when Operation Gatecrasher, now commonly accepted as the day humanity rose up again to challenge the Elders for the Earth, resulted in the rescue of The Commander and XCOM's resurrection. The Great War began anew, and for the next two years, the conflict raged across the globe as XCOM sought to stop the master plan of the Elders, the "Avatar Project", which would've seen the end of humanity's attempts to resist the Elders and would have surely doomed us.

With the defeat of the Elders at the seat of their power during Operation Leviathan, humanity and it's allies were at last liberated, freed from the chains of the Elders. With The Great War's end in late 2037, Earth was finally free, and humanity was once again the master of it's own planet. It has been sixteen years since the end of that terrible conflict, and, due to the chaos that is inherent to war, exact records of _what_ happened during that conflict are scattered, to say the least. Tall tales, legends and myths have risen surrounding the actions of XCOM and it's members.

A few months ago, I discovered a number of items and artifacts relevant to XCOM within the personal belongings of my parents, themselves former members of XCOM, The Commander and Colonel Jane "Rabbit" Kelly, to be exact. I brought the archive to their attention, and learned of the exact nature of the war with the Elders. My curiosity was naturally piqued, and I expressed a desire to bring these stories to light.

With their permission, I have begun to seek out surviving members of XCOM in order to learn the truth of what went on during the timeline of The Great War. A number of these accounts are first-hand recollections, though in some cases, I have acquired video logs, audio recordings and transcripts of what went on in a given event, and, at the request of all involved, I have been asked to compile these accounts into a 'storybook' format for ease of comprehension. Due to the many different viewpoints expressed, I have thus been given some significant freedom in the interpretation and order of the events, so long as they remain reasonably accurate.

Within these pages are the stories of XCOM, ranging from missions to day-to-day life to interesting events that occurred to it's members. May they be remembered.

\- _**Annette Zhang Kelly, November 2054**_

 


	2. The Commander, The Rabbit, And The Wardrobe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As with all couples, the Commander and Jane Kelly have a story behind how their love came to be. If it happens to be a bit more dysfunctional than the average one, that's kind of understandable.

_**Opening File...** _

_**Audio Recording Initiated: June 25, 2054, 11:26 AM** _

_**Participants: Annette Zhang Kelly (A), The Commander (C), Janeth Kelly (J)** _

_**Play? Y/N** _

_**Beginning Playback...** _

_A: Is this thing on? I hope it is. Testing one-two, testing one-two, Angelis is a motherfucker-_

_C: That was your first word, actually._

_A: Really?!_

_C:  Yeah. Your mom wasn't really too happy about that._

_J: That's an understatement._

_C: ...I think she was hoping your first word would be something more innocent.  
_

_J: I really was, yeah. Preferably "mama"._

_A: <nervous laughter> ...huh. Okay. Anyways, uh, let's just get on with the whole "how you two got together" thing.  
_

_C: Right-o, Butterscotch! Rabbit, you start. I'll back the facts._

_J: <loud sigh> Okay, here we go. It all started when your dad was a complete fucking idiot..._

_C: Hey!_

//

The moment you meet Jane Kelly goes a bit like a bad romcom.

Tired of sitting around in your personal quarters and stewing in the revelations Bradford had set before your eyes, you throw open the door and stride down the hall, feet taking you anywhere you can think. You turn a corner, and run right into Jane at velocities and angles best described as ‘inadvisable’. There’s the moment of painful collision, and then there’s the sensation of falling.

It’s quite awkward, really.

You tumble to the ground in a heap of limbs, and when you lock eyes with hers, the first thing you think is that she’s cute. Which is, of course, not a surprise, because Operative Kelly has short, brown hair, framed back in a ponytail, and soft brown eyes that you could get lost in, if you stared at them hard enough. And of course, in your infinite wisdom, you decide to open your mouth before your brain has had time to come up with something.

“Hello there!”

“General Kenobi.” Jane says after a moment, giving you a mischievous grin when you realize that someone else remembers that great movie.

“Good to know things from the ‘old world’ haven’t gone entirely out of style.” You say, helping her up in the process. “Sorry about that, twenty years of info being dumped on me didn’t do wonders for my concentration."

“No hard feelings, Commander.” She says, then extends her hand in the traditional manner of a handshake. “Janeth Kelly, at your service. Though please, call me Jane.” She says, and on instinct, you take her hand and return the gesture. “I was part of the team that pulled you out of the suit.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” You say, giving her a courteous little smile. “I’m sorry to hear about the other members of the ground team.

“They’ll be missed.” Jane replies, eyes shifting to a darker look for just a moment, before they spin back around to a more calm one. “And we’ll avenge them.”

“That we will.” You say with a nod. “Bradford got me up to speed on the current clusterfuck of a situation. But before I get to that, do you have any idea where the mess hall is? It’s been twenty years since I’ve had a good meal.”

Jane relaxes, now that the topic has turned to something lighter, mundane as it is. “The direction to the nearest food source would be this way, Commander.” She says, and you two walk side by side to the elevator.

//

_A: And here I was hoping it'd be more romantic._

_C: Everything I learned from romance came from Steve Carell romcoms and Bart Simpsons' Guide To Life._

_A: That explains a lot._

_J: We've never really been a typical couple._

_C: To be fair, typical couples **don't** topple tyrannical world governments._

//

“So...tell me about yourself.”

There’s a moment where Jane’s expression becomes distant, like she’s far away, in a time far better. Then she speaks. “I was born in November ‘02.” She says. “Had thirteen good years of a normal, peaceful life in a quiet farm in Ireland, then the aliens came and my world ended.” She says. “I had parents who loved me very much.” She says quietly. “They died during an alien attack on the city we lived near. One moment, we were there, enjoying time together, the next, they were lying dead on the street and I was alone.”

She takes another bite of her food. “I remember that attack.” You say offhandedly. “Sent in Strike-One, for all the good it did.” Your mind flashes back to that day, remembering seeing soldier after soldier fall until only the best or luckiest were left standing amidst a sea of bodies, both alien and human alike. “The UK pulled out of the project soon afterwards. We couldn’t save enough people for them to keep the faith in us.”

Silence sort of falls between the two of you, and you get lost in your thoughts for a moment. Your recollections have dredged up some unpleasant memories, particularly of the day that the old HQ was attacked and XCOM, for all intents and purposes, fell.

“What was your life like? Before the war.” Jane asks, and you step out of your memories, glad for the question. This is something you can answer, and with little fuss at that.

“Grew up in Kansas. Quiet place, not a lot to do back then. So I did a lot of outdoors activities in-between school and growing up. My best friend during that time was a girl named Annette, at least, until she moved away.” You say, leaning forward on the table. “I met Bradford, my  _other_ best friend, in tenth grade, under circumstances he'd rather leave private. Went through high school and college together, the latter of which we did in Las Vegas for some stupid reason I can't remember right now.”

Jane’s eyes flicker with interest at your words. “I’ve never been to Vegas.” She says after a moment. “What was it like?”

“Hot in the summer, freezing in the winter. Never a dull moment in that city. Entertainment and media shoved in your face twenty-four-seven.” You say, twirling your fork around absentmindedly. “I took up work as a masseur-slash-hairdresser to pay the bills, and ‘volunteered’ Bradford for a position at a gay strip bar. He took to the job well, once he was done lecturing me on how he could stand on his own two feet.”

Jane snickers a bit at the thought of seeing the grizzled old codger dancing around a pole. You set your fork down and shrug. “What can I say? He really liked that job. Stayed in it all the way until he joined the military. Kept the uniform around at the old base, I’m willing to bet money that he still has it.”

“I’ll take that bet.” Jane says.

//

_J: He still has that uniform, you know._

_A: Isn't Uncle Bradford like seventy now?_

_J: Yes._

_C: I really hope he's not using it anymore._

//

Not even a day later, and you’re already being asked to charge into the fray.

At least you’ve still got your old uniform and shield. You can fall back on your old fighting style, the one that served you well before the aliens smashed your face in and dragged you off to be a puppet of the Elders. That aside, you have to admit, there’s a strange sensation to being put in charge of XCOM again. In some ways, it feels like the first day you walked into the old base, except this time, it’s rather different. Before, you had been greeted with cautious wariness from those you were set to lead. This time, the soldiers around you look at you like you’re a savior descended from the heavens, which, for all intents and purposes, you may very well be one to them. In some ways, it’s just like old times, except instead of trained soldiers, you have people who can barely hold a gun, let alone shoot. To be fair, you have to admit, it’s not like the Council gave you much better, so you’re not really all that concerned with the fact that the entirety of Menace Team consists of a bunch of singers turned resistance fighters...

...and Jane.

You find the friendly dynamic that Menace has to be rather appealing, and you’d like to join in. You greatly enjoyed the music these women made, and you’d like to get to know them better, even if the circumstances are rather...different than what you’d imagined, a lifetime ago when all you had to worry about was day-to-day living and not about fighting the genocidal aliens running roughshod over the planet.

So you ask. You need to make friends, since most of your old ones are well...kinda dead.

“How’d you all come to be?” You say, looking at the people in the Skyranger’s troop bay. Taylor Swift, codename “Catastrophe”, leans back in her seat with a smile.

“Long story made short, we were angry, we wanted revenge, and birds of a feather flock together.” The blonde sharpshooter says. “Except for Jane. We found her way after we got our little group up and running.”

“It’s a bit of an embarrassing story.” Jane says offhandedly.

“Actually, it’s really simple, she was screwed, we were in the neighborhood, and because we’re nice, we pulled her ass out of the fire and adopted her.” Lynn “Mirrors” Gunn says, eyes shimmering with amusement at the way that Jane rolls her eyes in response to the brief retelling of her induction into the team.

Jane’s a Ranger, which, according to Bradford, is an evolution of the old Assault Troopers you had back in the days where XCOM was a proper military organization with government funding, not a resistance movement getting by on whatever they could find. The others are a mixture of Specialists, Sharpshooters and Grenadiers, themselves evolutions of the old divisions.

“So, what’re you doing, tagging along with us grunts?” Chrissy “Roses” Costanza asks, giving you a raised eyebrow that asks a thousand questions with a single gesture.

“Despite Bradford’s assurances to the contrary.” You say, leaning back in the Skyranger’s seat. “I don’t particularly like the idea of just commanding people from afar. I’ll do that, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve always performed best when I’m on the ground, seeing the action first-hand.”

“He’s just worried for you.” Jane says, and you give her a little nod.

“Considering what we went through, that’s not a surprise.” You respond, humming idly.

“Sorry to interrupt the chat, ladies and popsicle, but we’re here.” Says Melissa “Firebrand” Gaskarth, resident Skyranger pilot of the Avenger. “Please grab the cables and jump out before the aliens come on by and shoot me down.” As if on cue, the Skyranger’s ramp drops, revealing a snowy wasteland before you.

“You heard her, out we go, ladies.” Ellie “Lights” Goulding calls out, grabbing onto one of the cables in question.

“Last one down buys the drinks!” Hayley "Daydreamer" Williams shouts, swinging down before the others can even get out of their seats. There's an immediate scramble for the lines at her words. Rather than grab the cables, you instead opt to leap out of the vessel, purple energy coming to your hands and slowing your descent down. The thump of boots behind you indicates the others made it down safely.

You pull the circular shield off of your back and take hold of it, your free hand glowing with psionic energy.

“Huh, so the rumors about you having the same powers of the aliens is true.” Jane says.

A wisp of purple floats around your fingers and trails lazily up your hand. "I've had these powers since the original invasion." You say. "Learned of them after we caught a Sectoid Commander and Vahlen chopped the bastard into pieces searching for answers." The wisp evaporates, as lazily as a summer's breeze fades away. "Have to admit, it's useful to be able to pry into someone's head and turn them against their fellows, or hurl them into a wall."

“You know, I’ve never actually seen someone use psionics before.” Carly Rae Jepsen, better known as “The Queen”, says. “I’m kinda interested in seeing you mind control an alien.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You say.

//

_A: Did you actually mind-control an alien that day?_

_C: Nah. There was like, only one Sectoid there._

_J: Three, actually, and Taylor killed two of them before you even saw them._

_C: And you stabbed the last one._

_A: Auntie Taylor is awesome._

_C: Don't let your Aunt Ellie hear that._

_A: I'll make a note of that. Moving on from that, I have to ask, Dad, from what I've seen in the recordings, you had - and still have - a mastery of psionics on par with an Elder all throughout the war. How exactly did that happen?_

_C: The Elders spent twenty years "improving" me, increased physical skill, psionic training, the works. Their upgrades weren't as drastic as the Chosen, thankfully, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. I'd credit Asaru with that._

_A: Asaru?_

_C: It's a long story, and one for another time._

_J: Anyways, moving on, after Gingersnap and I got that power converter back..._

//

Somehow, you fit into Menace pretty well.

As it turns out, Jane is the only Ranger on the team, which naturally means that your own close-quarters fighting style works out well with hers. To be fair, the team’s balance is rather skewed in favor of distance fighting, with Carly and Chrissy making up the two specialists, Lynn and Hayley acting as grenadiers and two Sharpshooters in the form of Ellie and Taylor. And you’re...whatever you are. Psionic Shield-Slinger, probably. You block fire with the circular disk you're holding, reflect it into the enemy whenever possible. You throw your shield, bounce it off the walls and corners with the help of your psionics, and on more than one occasion, you turn your enemies against each other and force them to fire on their own. You have your M1911, of course, Bradford had returned that to you almost immediately after you'd woken up. You use it to reach opponents your shield can't, or when your psionics prove a bit too delicate to manage at that particular moment.

Menace works very well together. Chrissy is a hacker, she knows everything there is to know about technology and then some. You'd guess that her skill in matters technological rivals that of Lily or Melissa, if you had to guess. Her Gremlin, "Fluffy", as she likes to call him, is specifically designed to deliver the most painful shocks possible, and has some black hat gear you suspect probably belonged to an alien mech at some point. She's a good shot, and her technological experience gives her an insight into ADVENT's armor that lends an edge to the team. Carly is a medic. She hasn't given her Gremlin a name, but the thing has medikits bolted onto it and clearly is meant to fly around healing allies as necessary. There's a scanner taped onto the thing, for scouting purposes, you assume.

Lynn knows explosives like no other. She knows where to place a bomb for maximum effect, and she seems to revel in the chaos that comes with sowing explosives across enemy lines. The grenade launcher stays in her hands more than the minigun she carries, actually. It's an inverse of Hayley, who does her best to imitate Rambo, with how much fire she puts out from the minigun she totes around. She's not the greatest shot, but then again, with that much lead being shot out, who needs to aim?

Ellie hits everything she aims at. It doesn't matter how far away it is, it goes down with a single, clean hit. If someone told you that the British singer you followed on Twitter and whose music you listened to for hours on end in the days after you found it would become a marksman capable of taking out an ADVENT Trooper in a snowy wasteland at one hundred yards on a snapshot, you would've probably asked them to get their head checked. And despite the fact she's also a sharpshooter, Taylor seems to prefer her pistol far more than she does the sniper rifle on her back. And she's a good shot, too. You like that.

Jane...Jane is a whirlwind. She darts from target to target, firing her shotgun into their flanks and vanishing before they can return fire. When she gets close enough, she pulls the sword from her back and swings it with a speed and alacrity you’d only seen in the Assault Troopers you’d commanded over twenty years ago, and she keeps up with your own movements on the battlefield.

It’s a welcome surprise, actually. You hadn’t expected this.

You slide your shield back onto your arm as the last ADVENT Trooper falls, and you take a look at the generator the team had been sent in to grab. “Anyone injured?” You ask, receiving a chorus of negative affirmations, which is good, really. You were expecting at least one or two people to die, given what had happened to Delta-2's original team over twenty years ago.

“For the record, I got more than you did.” Jane says, walking over to you and giving you a friendly tap on the shoulder, and you give her an exhausted smile.

“What, I don’t get a handicap? I’m out of practice!” You say, hearing her amused laugh in response.

“I think you’re gonna fit in just fine.” Chrissy says, slapping you on the back in a friendly manner.

The smile on your face almost matches the one that Shen has on her face when you bring back the power core.

//

_C: I still think you should've given me a handicap._

_J: Bite me._

_A: Moving on!_

//

XCOM takes flight.

Literally and figuratively, where you go, hope spreads among the people that one day, Earth will be free. When you’re not busy leading fireteams into battle, you spar with the soldiers in the newly constructed GTS. You mandate that all soldiers, particularly the newer ones, need to spend some time in the GTS, honing their skills for the field. Admittedly, putting _I’ll Make A Man Out of You_ on a loop in there might be overdoing it. To be fair, you do change the music from time to time, but you want the troops to be inspired, and Mulan has always had the best ‘learn how to fight’ songs. You leave the amount of time spent in there up to them, you don’t want to overwork them, after all, and to make them feel more at ease, you put some time in there as well. You were only partially joking when you said you were out of practice, after all.

Being out there on the battlefield really helps get you back into fighting shape, though. There’s no greater teacher than rapidly learning how to disassemble a charging Stun Lancer, after all. And it raises morale amongst the troops, seeing you out there, kicking as much ass as they do. One morning, you run into Jane, who is testing out some moves on the empty air around her. They look quite impressive, if you had to guess, she’d apparently had time to study at least one martial art before the aliens invaded.

“Need a sparring partner?” You ask, leaning against the wall.

“Why not? I could use the help.” She says, and you settle into a series of stretches in response. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.” She adds, and you laugh a bit, settling into a series of stretches to warm up.

“I think we’re tied on the kill counter.” You say, watching as Jane mirrors you and begins to warm up. “But do I still get ‘stuck in the Elders’ spa’ privileges?”

“Nope!” Jane cheerfully says, standing up and settling into a fighting stance, a clear invitation to join her. “You’ve been out of there for three weeks. Time to take off the training wheels.”

You shrug. “Very well.” You say, and you fall into the mindset you have when fighting, that cold clarity that only twenty years of being...something for the Elders can do. When you fight, you are pure motion and energy, but Jane...Jane is a dancer.

She spins around your swings, deftly dodging and parrying where needed. She fights with a grace borne of swordplay and what you suspect is dance training. For a long, long while, neither of you land a single meaningful hit on the other, until Jane pulls a move that you’ve only seen one other person use and unceremoniously floors you.

“I give.” You say immediately, and Jane helps you off the training mat a second later. She tosses you a towel, and you take it with a grateful nod. “You know…” You say, breaking the silence. “That last move you used...I’ve only seen Zhang use that.”

Jane goes still, and you get the feeling that you’ve just said something you shouldn’t have. Before you can apologize, Jane begins to speak. “Shaojie Zhang…” She begins, voice unusually emotional. “...was my mentor.” She says, sitting down on a nearby bench.

“So he survived the attack on the base?” You ask hopefully, dropping the towel at the thought that another one of XCOM’s old generation might still be alive.

Jane nods. “He found me in the wake of the world’s surrender. Took me under his wing and trained me to be an XCOM operative. As far as he knew, he was the only one who lived. Said he didn’t want XCOM to die out with him.”

“Is he…” She nods.

“He died years ago.” She says. “He always spoke of you with reverence, told me the story of how you recruited him into XCOM and showed him he could be something greater. It was inspiring, listening to his words.” Jane huffs a breath out and slumps a bit on the bench. “He was a good man.”

“He was.” You respond, and the room falls into silence.

//

_J: <sniffling noise>_

_A: Mom?_

_J: ...sorry. I know- <sobbing noise> -he was...he was basically my dad-_

_C: ...hey, it's okay. 'Nette, baby, I think mama needs a break. Rabbit, you go clean up, I'll handle this next part. It's just wanton murder and bad flirting, anyways._

//

Jane gets her nickname two months into the war with the aliens.

Tygan and Shen have managed to come up with their own version of ADVENT’s magnetic weaponry, even if it is just basic rifles and pistols at the moment, but it’s good enough for you. So you suit up, grab Menace, and have Bradford set course for the ADVENT Blacksite the Informant had so helpfully provided. Said blacksite is...eerie, you think, wandering the halls of the large facility, passing containers filled with human bodies and fighting off ambushes at every turn. The icing on the cake is the mysterious vial that Ellie spots, and after Chrissy disposes of the last alien in the area, Carly retrieves the item in question and you call for extraction.

That’s where things get complicated. Apparently, ADVENT doesn’t take kindly to people stealing stuff they want, and a squad of troops come in by air in an attempt to stop you.

You should probably fix that, you’re the Commander, after all.

The extraction point is about twenty feet away, and Melissa is coming in fast, which means you need to get your team there just as quickly, though the heavy fire obviously makes that a tad more complicated than you’d like. You could probably make it, if you held your shield out and ran for it, but you’re not about to leave anyone behind. “Who here still has grenades?” You ask, just as Taylor pops her head up to take a shot on an incoming Shieldbearer.

“I do." Jane says, when Lynn and Hayley shake their heads.  Right, you forgot, they used them up breaching the Blacksite and clearing out the aliens within.

“On my mark, throw it.” You say. "Lynn, Hayley, cover fire, then run. Everyone else, just run."

Jane nods, draws the item in question. You give a nod, and she flings it at the densest concentration of ADVENT she can see. You stand up, throw your shield at an offending Stun Lancer, use your psionics to throw back a Shieldbearer long enough to empty the rest of your .45 into his face, and join your team in running like hell for the gunship.

You catch the metal disk on it’s way back with one hand, using your free arm to grab onto a cable, and Melissa sends the Skyranger soaring into the air the instant the last set of boots lands on the ramp.

“Nice work, Rabbit.” You say, slumping down on the floor.

“Rabbit, huh?” Lynn says, giving Jane an amused look. “I like it.” She says, and the others nod their agreement at the name.

“It’s cute, just like a dolphin!” Carly says, and Jane gives a little smile at the nickname.

"Fits her." Hayley concurs. "She did run the fastest out of us, that's for sure."

Your eyes linger on her tired, weary frame for just a moment longer than they should, and all you can think of is that even though she’s exhausted and a bit of a wreck, she still looks beautiful. You and the others sit in silence for the rest of the trip, and only the bump of the Skyranger landing aboard the Avenger shakes you out of your thoughts.

“When we get back, everyone head to medical.” You say, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. “And then some rest.” You add after a moment. You sling an arm under Lynn’s shoulder and help her off the Skyranger, she’d twisted her ankle earlier in the mission, dodging an errant Viper, and you use your psionics to help take the pressure off the foot.

Jane stumbles, and your other hand comes out and steadies her. “You okay?” She nods.

“Never better.”

//

_A: ...and apparently, the origin of Mom's codename._

_C: Yeah. She's my little bun-bun._

_A: You just like making the rabbit puns, don't you, dad?_

_C: <amused laughter> Yes, yes I do, baby girl._

//

It’s the little things that Jane does that make you smile.

She saves you a bit of your favorite food when you forget to eat, studying recovered ADVENT intelligence late into the night in hopes of discovering more on the Avatar Project.

"You know, most people eat when they’re hungry.” She says one night, placing the bowl on the table and scooping up the datapad. “It’ll keep, the food won’t.” She says.

“True.” You murmur, grasping at the food. “Betos has the next facility covered anyways.” The Skirmisher leader and you get along quite well, the shared history of being the Elders’ slaves was an easy enough foundation to bond on. That and, well, you’d set her free some ten plus years ago, during a rebellious phase you don’t quite remember.

On the really bad days, Jane’s there to pick you up.

Like the day that Wraith One gets ambushed, and though everyone gets out, Rogers, Romanov and Maximoff are stuck in the medbay for the next couple of weeks at the very least. Blame the Warlock for that one. Him and his ghostly zombies. At least they got in a good hit on the way out. The Warlock won’t be Warlocking while he’s missing an arm.

“What’s wrong, Commander?” Jane asks, when she sees you sitting against a wall, solemn and forlorn.

“It’s nothing.” You say, not wanting her to see you like this. You’re the Commander, you need to be strong, if not for yourself, then for XCOM and the Resistance.

“It’s not nothing, Commander.” She says, sitting down next to you. “Did something happen?” You nod and reach into a pocket, taking out a photo that has clearly seen some wear and tear. It’s inside a protective sheet, but the photo itself has been folded over and over.

The picture displays you, in your younger years, and a girl with tousled brown hair and a bright, toothy smile.

“I was just remembering an old friend.” You say, pointing at the girl. “Annette Durand.” A small smile appears on your face. “We were best friends back in the day. All the way from elementary through high school and beyond. I learned how to speak French from her, though it's rather rusty nowadays.” You add. “We went everywhere together. At least until she moved back to France in ninth grade. I’m still not sure why, I think it might’ve had something to do with family politics. Her father didn't exactly like me. Too lighthearted for his tastes, or maybe it had something to do with the electric fence thing.”

Jane nods, eyes silently beckoning you to continue.

“I didn’t exactly take it well.” You say, shaking your head a bit. “I cried, actually. Said I’d miss her, never forget her, that I’d come visit her sometime.” You hand Jane the photo. “We saw each other a number of times over the years. Phones, emails and the like made it easier, but we were living on different continents...too hard to keep constant contact. Then I was recruited into the XCOM Project, the aliens came and the world burned, and as far as I know, she died during the invasion.”

“She was your best friend.” Jane says after a moment.

“She was.” You respond. “And in the end...she’s another reminder of the world that I couldn’t save.”  

“We’re not out of the fight yet.” Jane muses, breaking you out of your reverie. “We’re making progress against the aliens. There’s still a chance to put an end to the Elders and the crimes they’ve committed.”

“True.” You acquiesce. “Long as we’re breathing…”

“That’s the spirit.” Jane says, helping you off the ground. “Come on, let’s go find the others, see if we can’t get in on a game of cards or something.”

//

_A: Auntie Annette was-_

_C: A good woman, despite what she became, she was a good person, all the way to the very end. It's why you're named after her._

_A: Can you tell me more about her?_

_C: Later. I...I don't think I can talk about her right now._

_A: I understand. Moving forward, I found this archived recording of the Avenger's common rooms, and this particular segment might be of interest to you._

//

"Call it." Bradford says, watching The Commander and Jane eat breakfast together one morning.

"I think they're gonna tear each other's clothes off _before_ Christmas." Ghost says, tossing a five dollar bill at Bradford.

"After." Roach responds. "Because someone needs to oppose you."

"Before." Foley says. "Call it a soldier's intuition."

"I say they hook up after the new year." Tygan said. "Based off of gathered data, they are unlikely to realize their feelings for each other for quite some time." A few of the other scientists and engineers nod their assent and join Tygan on that particular betting line.

"Alright, in that case, I'm going down the 'shacking up before Christmas' line." The Central Officer says. "I'm wagering fifty bucks on this one."

"I'm with Central." Lily says, casting her vote. "Sooner or later, something's gonna give and they're gonna figure it out, and I'm hoping it'll be sooner rather than later."

Melissa follows her girlfriend's lead and casts her vote in favor of 'before Christmas'. She turns towards the other members of Menace. "You guys know her best." Says the Scottish redhead. "Toss in your votes."

"Before." Carly says, clapping her hands together excitedly as she tosses in a crumpled twenty dollar bill. "Because their hearts are guitar strings, and they need some plucking to make beautiful music during the holidays!"

"Fucking Rabbit needs to spit it out already." Taylor says, throwing in a ten. "I mean, what do we have to do? Lock 'em in a closet or something? Hit them over the head?" 

"I could be of assistance with that third part!" Julian says. 

"Fuck off, rivet-boy." Taylor replies, not missing a beat. Julian's protest and hypocritical grousing about manners is pointedly ignored by the ex-singer, who turns towards the other four members of Menace.

"If she isn't climbing the Commandy Tree before Christmas, I vote we lock them in a closet until they do." Hayley says, far too preoccupied with the guitar in her hands that she's tuning.

"I'm gonna go ahead and vote in favor of the 'before' line." Ellie says, holding up a five-dollar bill, because she's stingy like that and has a reputation for _always_ being right when she predicts something. "Come on, you can see it in her body language! She's totally crushing, however much she denies it."

"The Commander likes her too." Lynn says, feet up on the card table. "Tries to hide it, thinks they're being _sneaky and stealthy_ and whatnot, but it's kinda obvious. Look at them, they're sitting side by side and telling dumb jokes no one except Bradford would find funny." She holds up a pair of twenties and ignores Central's protests of having a sense of humor. "So I'm calling in the 'before' line." 

"Definitely before the holidays." Chrissy says, tossing a ten at the pot being used for the collective betting pool. "I'll eat my shoes if they don't."

"Shoes are tasty." Carly says, and Hayley laughs as Chrissy playfully bats at her fellow Specialist.

//

_C: <hysterical laughter> Oh my god, fucking Julian..._

_J: Okay, what'd I miss?_

_C: Oh, just Julian being Julian and all your sisters betting on when we'd shack up._

_J: Okay, this I need to see._

_A: Here's the recording, mom._

_J: <laughter> ...actually yeah, clubbing us might've worked. God, why did we take until Decemb-_

_C: Spoilers!_

//

When life gets too stressful, which is often, you go out on the deck and stargaze.

It's an old habit of yours, from way back in Kansas. You'd look up, stare at the stars and find the constellations, and if Annette was with you, the two of you would swap stories on the nature of the constellations. The Tale of Orion is your favorite. Whenever you and her had free time, and the weather was good, the two of you would just lie outside and look up at the night sky. Admittedly, you couldn't keep the habit up all the time, particularly after moving to Vegas. Too much light pollution from a city that seemed content to revel in mankind’s creations rather than nature’s creations. The Avenger is quite a change from your childhood home back in Kansas, and definitely a change from the lights and sounds of Vegas, but after these long months on the run, you've come to consider the ship your home. Admittedly, a home full of lunatics and stuffed with enough explosives to level half the continent, but whatever. It's home...a very heavily guarded home that can move. You get the feeling that the Avenger, with all it's turrets, guns and explosives, is probably a Texan's dream home.

It's late at night, and besides yourself, no one ever comes up onto the deck when the ship is powered down. They're content to stay inside the ship, or on the ground, but never on the deck for longer than it takes to board and disembark from the Skyranger. Too windy, or too cold, usually both. As for you, well, you enjoy the serenity, getting away from the chaos of the war against the aliens and the insanity of trying to manage the Resistance, which acts like a herd of cats on good days and a herd of _angry_ cats on not-so-good-days.

"It's cold up here."

You turn your head, and catch sight of Jane walking towards you, a small bag slung over her shoulder.

"We're in the middle of November, it's not a surprise." You say.

"Wasn't complaining, I was observing." She says, crossing the distance and taking a spot next to you. "Bradford's stories too much to handle?" She asks, a small note of curiosity in her voice.

"You've heard one of his 'tales from the old days', you've heard 'em all. They're all factually inaccurate anyways." You say. “He embellishes them for the purposes of making himself look better, which is something he learned to do back in eleventh grade literature class when it became clear the teacher was one of those super uptight ‘put it in a three ring binder and have it be fifty pages MLA format blah blah blah’ types.”

"So you're passing the time by turning yourself into a popsicle?" Jane asks, and you give off a small laugh.

"No, no, of course not. That's what the coat's supposed to protect against." You gesture at yourself. Indeed, above your ‘normal’ XCOM uniform, the blue-and-grey star-themed outfit that draws comparisons to Rogers’ own tattered outfit is a thick black jacket, much better suited for the chilly outdoors. “Just getting away from it all. Wanted to go back to my childhood for a few hours.”

"Stargazing?" Jane asks, surprise in her voice. "Didn't think you were the type."

"Bradford and Annette knew about it, if that’s what you’re wondering. Not much to do out in Kansas, but it beats Iowa, if Donut’s words are any indication." You say. "The old HQ was underground, so I couldn’t indulge in my old habit there. It drove me mad, but basically everyone but John chalked my stress levels up to fighting a losing battle with the aliens while the Council sold us out and the world burned down around us."

"How long have you been doing this? Coming up here all by your lonesome?" You shrug.

"Probably since early May." You say. "Bradford had issues with me going outside alone, despite the fact that I go on like sixty-percent of the missions to do hands-on commanding these days.” You breathe out once, watching as a fine mist appears and dissipates in the air. "So, what are you doing up here, Rabbit?"

Jane slings the bag off her shoulder and opens it. Inside are cookies, most of them chocolate chip, accompanied with a smattering of sugar, peanut butter, gingersnap and caramel cookies. "One of my friends in the Havens bakes these for me, sends along a bag every few weeks, when the Avenger is close enough, anyways. I would've indulged myself in the Living Quarters, but Ghost declared a free-for-all pillow fight and I'd rather not have a stray projectile ruin my treats."

"You can hang around up here if you let me have some." You say in a faux-serious tone, and Jane gives you a grin.

"Equitable working arrangement for me, Commander." She says, placing the bag between the two of you. "So, what flavors do you want?"

You reach in the bag and pull out a chocolate chip cookie. "Personally, I like these the best, the metaphorical 'original' flavor. Can't ever go wrong with it. Annette preferred peanut butter with her chocolate chip cookies for some reason."

You take a bite out of the cookie, moaning at the flavor. "I haven't had one of these in a long, long while." You say, once you're done with it. Jane reaches into the bag and pulls out a caramel cookie, taking a bite out of it.

"These ones are my favorite." She says. “They remind me of my mother.” Her voice wavers for a moment. “She always made cookies every Sunday. ‘To get us through the week’, as she was fond of saying.”

"She sounds like she was a great woman.” You say after a moment, receiving a small nod in response. “Though personally, I would've pegged you for the sugar cookies, considering what I usually see you eating whenever we take meals with the rest of Menace." You say.

"What can I say? I have a sweet tooth. Not that sugar cookies are bad, but gingersnap is better." Jane responds, snapping one of the cookies and twirling the broken half around in her fingers.

"Don't let Middle Officer Stanford hear you say that." You say. "He loves sugar cookies. They remind him of Kansas for some reason. It’s one of those weird things about him that make him such a great guy to hang around with."

"Should I give him one as a peace offering?" Jane asks, raising an eyebrow as she lifts another cookie to her mouth. “You know, for the Keebler Elf thing.”

"Nah, then he'll come up here and tell us some more stories about picking fights with aliens while searching for his sweater. And trust me, if it wasn’t for the fact he actually has that sweater again, I wouldn’t believe it happened."

//

_A: Uncle Bradford really likes that sweater, doesn't he?_

_C: It belonged to his grandmother. She gave it to him on her deathbed when he was fifteen._

_A: Oh. So you're telling me that thing is-_

_J: -about fifty-five years old, yeah._

_C: He did a **lot** of shit for that sweater. A lot._

_J: Like storm an ADVENT base._

_C: Or break into his ex-boyfriend's house._

_A: Okay, now this I gotta hear._

_C: Later. It's a twenty hour story and I only like telling it in five minute intervals._

_A: Aw, c'mon-_

//

Jane comes back the next night, and the one after that. The days turn into weeks, and it becomes a little ritual between the two of you. When the world allows you to, you make time together, just hanging out up on the Avenger's deck, sharing cookies and stories.

"And that’s when Bradford went "Close Range?!", and he slammed his hands down on the desk!" You say, throwing your arms open in perfect mimicry of your Central Officer. "So a few days later, Shen comes over and shows off the prototype for the Arc Thrower, and Bradford insists on a field test and while he’s fiddling with the thing, he goes and tazes Vahlen. She was _not_ happy about it, let me tell you that."

Jane is laughing at the imagery you’ve conjured up. "I can't believe he was anything other than that jaded tall-tale spinning sweater-obsessed alcoholic we've got down below deck. Seriously, just wow." She pauses for breath, leaning back, trying to calm herself down. "That's why he gets so uncomfortable when you shout "Close Range?!" over the comm when you’re doing observation duty rather than being down in the trenches with us."

"That's exactly it." You say, pulling the bag of cookies in your direction. "It's kind of a humiliating memory for him. Vahlen was _pissed_ and probably wanted to kill him for that." You say, grabbing a cookie and popping it in your mouth.

"You should get Lily to start making Arc Throwers again." Jane says. "The stun effect could be helpful against the more troublesome aliens."

"I'm considering it, though I’m not sure we’d want to try our hand at kidnapping aliens. Don’t have the space to house one of the things, unless our plan was to do high-altitude interrogation, which, frankly, probably wouldn’t work. I mean, who wants to try throwing a Berserker off a-" Your next sentence is cut off when something wet hits your head.

You look up, and that's about the same time that the sound of thunder occurs and rain starts falling in earnest. "Aw hell, run!" Jane shouts, grabbing the bag, and the both of you waste no time scrambling for the door.

You manage to get inside twenty seconds later, though you're both soaked, and the cookies are a lost cause. "So much for stargazing and story swapping out on the deck tonight." Jane says.

"Next time." You muse, stumbling out into the hallway and closing the access door behind the both of you.

“Best get out of these clothes before we catch cold.” Jane responds.

“Same time out on the deck when the weather’s better?” You ask.

“If I have more cookies.” Jane says. “‘Cause those were the last ones I had. We’d have to visit the Port Moresby haven and hope my friend is still there if we’re gonna get more.” She turns down a different hallway, heading for the Living Quarters, while you turn in the direction of your own, personal quarters. “Night, Commander.” She calls out over her shoulder.

You pass by Ghost on the way, the masked man dragging Roach by his feet. “Oh god!” Roach shouts. “Commander, don’t let him make me go out there! It’s not my fault! He has the wrong man!”

“What did he do?” You ask wearily, staring at the skull-masked man.

“Well, Commander, he threw one of Ramirez’s flour bags at me during the pillow fight.” Ghost says, and you can tell he’s agitated, even under the mask and sunglasses.

“I thought it was a pillow! A really heavy pillow but pillow nonetheless, and I missed, didn’t I? That’s what truly matters!” Roach protests from his position on the floor.

“Carry on.” You say. “But only for five minutes, and you have to drag him back in if you see lightning.”

Ghost gives you a nod. “Thank you, Commander.” He says, and resumes walking. Roach gets dragged out the door, kicking and screaming all the way, and you continue on your journey to get new clothes.

“Ramirez, huh?” You murmur to yourself. “What’s he doing with flour?”

//

_C: I should really talk to your Uncle James more often. See how that bakery of his is going._

_J: Not a bad idea, yeah._

_A: What was a bag of flour doing lying around in the living quarters?_

_C: **That's** your takeaway from this? _

_A: And did you ever make more Arc Throwers?_

_J: Yes. Though they didn't really work as advertised-_

_C: -I think that making an ADVENT General convulse and fire from all holes at once totally qualifies as "advertised"._

_J: -he died, Gingersnap. Those things aren't supposed to kill people._

_C: You, clearly, have not met EXALT._

_A: You mean the rumors that ADVENT was the evolution of a trans-human separatist cult are true?  
_

_C: Yeah. Ask the Avengers sometime about it. They know more than I care to._

_J: Anyways, where were we? Baking, right? Yeah..._

//

You wait until the next ‘morning’ to approach Hunter Team. Bradford had been in the middle of chewing out everyone involved in the pillow fight, shouting about ‘endangerment’ and ‘professionalism’, which is rather strange, coming from the guy who spent the better part of a decade shaking his ass on a stage for money.

In any case, you weren’t exactly in a hurry to interrupt him, so you’d simply retired for the night after getting new clothes and checking in on Shen down in Engineering to see about the progress on the Plasma Weapon Upgrades. Besides Wraith One, Hunter Team is one of your more skilled ‘Covert’ teams aboard the ship. No one can beat the power trio that is Rogers, Romanoff and Maximoff, but David Foley, Jake Dunn and James Ramirez come fairly close, even if comm exchanges indicate Ramirez does most of the gruntwork.

Like right now, for example.

“Ramirez! Hurry your ass up with that mop!” Foley’s voice echoes into the hallway, and you step out into the armory to find Ramirez in the middle of scrubbing the floor, where there’s an impressive amount of grease and oil lying around. Hunter Team’s leader is perched on top of the Skyranger, wearing a pair of welding goggles and what might be a blowtorch, or at least something supposed to act like one. It may, in fact, be a plasma pistol modified to act as a blowtorch.

For some reason, Melissa trusts Foley to manage the Skyranger in her absence, which is really weird, considering the last guy who attempted to so much as touch her baby girl was quite literally shot at by her. Perhaps her relationship with Lily has mellowed her out, or maybe it’s because Foley kinda fancies himself to be one of those Officer and a Gentleman types and acts accordingly. Probably both. In any given case, besides Lily, Foley is the only one allowed to so much as _breathe_ on the Skyranger.

Somewhere across the hangar, Dunn is stacking boxes with Soap. Your attention is called back to the other two members of Hunter when Ramirez decides to mouth off to his commanding officer. “Screw you, Sarge! You made this mess, so I’ll clean it up at whatever pace I want!” Ramirez calls up towards him, but he does quicken his pace a little, particularly when he catches sight of you. “Commander on deck!” He shouts, straightening up. Foley somehow balances himself on the Skyranger and does a perfect salute, which you return.

“At ease you two.” You say. “I’m not here on official business.”

“Something up, Commander?” Ramirez asks, lowering his arm.

“Yeah, actually. I heard Roach threw a bag of flour in your possession at Ghost last night.” You say, causing the Ranger’s back to stiffen. “What exactly do you do with the flour, James?” He relaxes at your question, realizing you’re not here to chew him out.

“I bake, Commander.” Ramirez says. “Just for myself, really, ever since Ana died, it’s been a bit of a coping mechanism. Brownies, bread, cookies-” Your eyebrows raise.

“Hold up, you bake cookies?” You ask, suddenly _very_ interested in Ramirez’s little hobby.

“...Yes?” He says, curious at your intentions. “From scratch, well, not like I can’t do anything but bake from scratch, what with ADVENT wiping out and absorbing all the major baking corporations and all that.”

“Can you teach me how?” You ask, and Ramirez gives you a very, very confused look. XCOM’s Commander, the leader of the resistance, shield-slinging badass, psionic master and Earth’s last hope...wants to bake?

“Yeah, sure.” He says, once the shock has worn off.

“When can you start?” You ask.

“Right now, that’s when!” Foley shouts from his spot on the Skyranger. “Ramirez, drop that mop and teach the Commander how to not set off every fire alarm aboard this ship! That’s an order, private!”

Ramirez groans. “I’m not a private, sir! I’m a lieutenant!”

“And I’m a major and fifteen years older than you, so I can call you whatever I like, Jimmy boy!” Foley calls back. “Dunn! Get your ass on that mop!” A groan arises from the eponymous man, and for his part, Ramirez tosses the mop in the general direction of Dunn. “Good luck working on this clusterfuck of an oil spill!” He shouts, turning to lead you to his ‘spot’ on the ship.

“Teach your ass off Ramirez!” Foley calls out. “My share of the betting pool is at stake!”

“What betting pool?” You say, turning back towards him. Foley’s eyes widen for just a moment.

“Ah...the betting pool to see how long it’ll take for him to screw up that!” He says hastily. “You know how Ramirez is, always fucking things up. Heh heh.”

“Right…” You say, and turn away to follow Ramirez out the door.

//

_J: Don't say it..._

_C: Ramirez, do everything!_

_J: ...god fucking dammit._

_A: <snickers>_

//

“Where exactly did you get an oven?”

“One of the guys in the Resistance havens found it in a scrapheap, sold it to me in exchange for a box of pistol ammo, two grenades and a sword. Roped one of the engineers into helping me fix it.” The oven in question looks like it’s been assembled from parts older than either of you, but judging by the fact Ramirez is completely at ease with the thing, it’s probably stable.

Probably.

“So, the first thing we wanna do is gather the ingredients.” Ramirez says. “Then after we do that, we’re gonna mix them together, roll the dough up into balls, preheat the oven, stick them in for about fifteen minutes, take them out, let them cool off and enjoy.” He gives you a look. “Simple enough?”

“Uh…”

“Fuck it, if the smoke alarms don’t go off, we’re good.” Ramirez says. There is some cursing, a bit of screaming and what might be an explosion, but when all is said and done, you’ve managed it. You and Ramirez are covered in flour, the entire ‘kitchen’ is a mess, but the cookies are actually pretty decent. “Very good, Commander.” Ramirez says, taking a bite. “It’s not bad, probably won’t die of food poisoning tonight.” He gives you a thumbs up. “Now, let’s try to do this again, but with fifty percent less chaos. Also, maybe add the chocolate chips this time.”

You sigh.

//

_C: And that's how I bake cookies now!_

_A: Not. Ideal._

_J: I'll get him to teach you sometime, if you're interested. Now, sometime around November, your aunts started hitting me over the head with hints that maybe my feelings for your dad were reciprocated...  
_

//

“So about the Commander…”

Jane pauses for a moment at Lynn’s drawling words, just as the other members of Menace pause in their work at the voice of the grenadier.

“What about them?” She asks.

“It seems to me that _someone_ has a crush on our shield-slinging leader.” The blonde says, sitting back on her bed with a little grin. Jane feels heat in her cheeks.

“It’s...well, we’re friends. Really...close...friends…” The Irishwoman says, fully aware that Lynn hasn’t bought the explanation one bit.

“Uh huh.” She says, leaning back on the mattress with a very, very smug look now. “Don’t worry, we’re all betting on you.” Lynn adds. “Though I have to admit, the question of whether you or the Commander will make the first move has us split right down the middle.”

“Okay...so I _do_ like the Commander.” Jane says, throwing her arms up and sitting on her own bed with a bit more force than necessary. “It’s just that I don’t know...I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to act on those feelings. The Commander is my-our superior.”

"Never stopped me before!" Taylor shouts, and Chrissy breaks out into giggles.

“The Commander is also our friend, and spends as much time on the Avenger as they do off the Avenger, beating the shit out of the aliens themselves.” Lynn responds. “So I say go for it. We could literally all die tomorrow, no one’s gonna throw a fit about regulations or some other bullshit if you decide to try your hand at a relationship with The Commander.”

“But-”

“Janeth.” Lynn says, voice slow and her words deliberate, in that _listen here you little shit_ kind of way. “XCOM doesn’t play by those kinds of rules used by ‘proper militaries’ and whatnot, which I always thought were stupid anyways. There’s no shame in attempting to find happiness where you can. God knows this world’s fucked up enough as it is.”

There’s a long, long pause between the duo, which Jane uses to grab a water bottle and take a long pull from it.

“And the Commander likes you.” Lynn adds offhandedly, which causes Jane to spew her drink out.

“What?!”

Somewhere behind them, Hayley tosses a crumpled up paper ball at Jane's head. The ranger whirls around, in time to see Chrissy and Ellie point fingers at each other, while Hayley pretends to be very engrossed in her guitar. Carly rolls her eyes, gives the duo a smile and goes back to cuddling with her cat, Jupiter, who hangs around Menace's bedroom and generally acts as a benchwarmer while the medic's away.

“Oh...fuck.” Lynn murmurs. “Of all the people on this ship to be acting like a couple of grade-schoolers with crushes, it has to be you two…”

//

_C: Lynn called me a gradeschooler?!_

_J: You kinda act like one some days._

_C: I resent that. I'm a motherfucking tween and I'm fabulous about it._

//

In early December, Ramirez declares your baking skills ‘acceptable’.

Which is good, because you’ve been preparing this project for a while now. You and Jane resumed your little ‘shared habit’ of hanging out on the deck to stargaze, swap cookies and stories, but that had become less about the cookies and more about the stories ever since XCOM started operating in the wilderness of Europe, far from the Australian haven where Jane gets her cookies. It takes you about two days of planning and four hours of harried, frantic work, but you manage to pull it off, two full sheets of cookies, a mixture of all of Jane’s favorites. Caramel and Gingersnap, with a smattering of chocolate chip and sugar, for yourself. And the best part is that you did it singlehandedly, with little collateral damage to yourself or the kitchen. You only lost about four caramel cookies and a gingerbread man prototype. A roaring success by XCOM standards.

The final component of your little plan had required you to enlist the help of Wraith One, who have recently started going by the name of The Avengers ever since they grabbed some more members and began going on fireteam-based missions rather than just Covert Ops. Rogers had been curious about the recent request to find a picnic basket and a set of cloth napkins, but the man had come through with the items. As you leave the kitchen, you see Romanov giving you a knowing smile as you head upstairs towards the deck. She follows you all the way to the access door.

“Have fun with your little Rabbit, lovebird!” She calls out in a sweet, teasing tone as you step through the threshold.

“She’s not-”

Romanov closes the door in your face.

“No use trying to hide anything from that one.” You mutter, and turn to head to the spot on the deck where Jane is hanging out. She’s seated on a blanket, dressed warmly, and looking up at the stars. You get the feeling she’d be tossing pebbles over the side of the ship if it weren’t for the fact she doesn’t have any with her.

“What took you so long?” She asks, just before her eyes fall on the basket.

“Had to finish this little project up.” You say, setting the basket down between the two of you. “Go on, open it.” Jane reaches over and lifts up the lid, eyes lighting up in delight when she sees what’s inside.

“We’re not anywhere near Australia...how did you get these?” She asks, reaching inside and pulling out a caramel cookie.

“Made them myself.” You say, positively beaming. “Took a while and I had to sell my soul to King Julian, but I know you really love those so I gave an arm and a leg to learn how to make them.”

“You’re so sweet.” Jane says, smiling at you, taking a bite of the cookie in her hand.

“No no, those are sweet. _I’m_ a badass. Though ‘sweet’ is an acceptable term, I suppose. It’s a bit flowery for my taste.” You say in a faux-dramatic tone, leaning back on one of the blankets and relaxing, letting go of your worries and just focusing on Jane’s company. Something catches your eye, and you look up, just in time to see a shooting star cross the sky.

“Shooting star! Quick, Rabbit, make a wish!” You shout, pointing upwards.

Jane looks up, spots the astral object in question, and closes her eyes in concentration. You watch it fly out of sight, eyes straining until you know that it’s gone, and then you turn back towards Jane. “So, what’d you wish for?”

“You mean besides kicking the aliens off Earth?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

You give a small laugh. “Yeah, besides that.” You say.

“Ahh…” Jane starts, trailing off. “It’s a bit of a silly wish, actually.” She murmurs.

“Aw, come on, no wish is ever silly!” You say, leaning back on the deck. “Unless it’s like Claptrap’s desire to get all the bacon in the world. _That_ was kinda silly. And weird, considering he’s a robot. Good taste though.”

“Well, with that in mind, I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.” She says, shifting to face you directly, the cookies all but forgotten in the wake of the shooting star.

“Fair enough.” You respond, taking a deep breath. “I, for one, wished that I could kiss the woman I’m in love with.” You say, with no small amount of embarrassment in your voice. “Seems kinda juvenile, if you ask me, but fuck it, shooting stars don’t come around every day.”

Jane gives a little shrug. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was actually wishing along similar lines.” She says.

“Ah, so the Rabbit is in love!” You say, voice taking on a conspiratorial air for the fun of it. “Who’s the lucky one?”

“Alright, I’ll give you a hint.” Jane says. “They’re caring, they do things for their friends, like learning how to bake cookies, and they’re someone I’ve spent a lot of time with.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words. “That sounds oddly familiar...” You say, looking away for a moment, daring to hope.

Jane scoots closer to you, placing a finger on your lips. “You don’t need to hide it.” She says. “I like you too.”

“I...yeah.” You say inelegantly. “I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t notice that easily.”

Jane smiles. “Come on, Commander. I saw the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t looking. Zhang taught me everything I know, remember?” Her fingers shift, moving downwards towards your hands.

“Well, at least I know what the betting pool comment Foley made was about.” You say, letting Jane take your hands in hers. Her skin is soft, warm, and a part of you wants to hold on and never let go.

“Enough about the others.” Jane says, drawing you close.

“Jane...” You whisper, locking eyes with hers, staring into those light brown orbs.

“Come here, Gingersnap.” She whispers back, just as your lips connect with hers.

//

_C: And then we had buttsex._

_J: What? No! We just made out. Besides, there were fucking cameras and half the crew was watching us the whole time._

_C: Didn't stop Lily and Lissa from screwing on the deck._

_A: They did **what?!**_

//

“They did it! They did it! They fucking did it!” Lynn shouts, causing a cheer to erupt throughout the bridge. “Finally, the grade-schoolers did it!”

"Glory be to the Shire!" Carly shouts, jumping up and giving Chrissy and Taylor high-fives. "Brittanna is canon!" She adds in a joyful tone, picking up Jupiter and twirling the furry creature around joyfully.

"Should probably save the shovel talk until the euphoria's worn off." Chrissy says.

"If it ever does..." Taylor drawls, an amused smile on her face.

Julian grabs the intercom and turns it on, the SPARK bellowing into it at the top of his robotic lungs. “Attention meatbags! The two hopeless romantic idiots have officially shacked up! The losers must hand over the wagered currency to their rightful owners or face immediate execution!” As if to punctuate his command, he slams his hand down on the table, giving a loud, metallic bang. A plastic cup hits the back of his head.

"Not so loud, bitch!" Melissa says. "You'll startle the lovebirds!"

“And that’s the definitive proof to never bet against Central.” Shen says with a smile, opening her hand to accept the bet from Tygan. Ten dollars dutifully change hands.

“While I am surprised my hypothesis was incorrect...” The doctor says, sounding quite pleased to have been proven wrong. “It is nice to see that they'll be a couple in time for the holidays.” 

"Remind me to call Volk and ask him to send us some mistletoe!" Bradford says, leaning back in his seat with the smuggest grin the man has ever sported.

"...And your precognitive senses prove you right once again." Hayley says, clapping Ellie on the back.

"See, I told you I'm always right." The blonde says, giving her a grin.

//

_A: If there's one thing I've learned from hanging around Auntie Ellie, it's that she's always right._

_J: That's a very important life lesson for you, FYI.  
_

_A: Alright, thanks guys. I'm gonna go get this thing uploaded onto my computer._

_C: You have fun, butterscotch._

_**End** **Recording**_

//

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who remember the original version, the story was originally titled "So Stay With Me, I'm Addicted To This Feeling", and mainly focused on The Commander and Jane Kelly bonding over stargazing and a love of cookies. While these elements were kept in this refurbished version of that story, some serious expansion was added onto the original story elements to account for how the two characters evolved in the meantime.
> 
> The Commander remains the same featureless figure we all know, hence why the story is set mostly from their perspective and is written in second-person. Done to allow the reader to integrate themselves with the character, though I will admit that the Commander's characterization and backstory was done to make them a more interesting figure. Basically, they love music, cookies, use humor and sarcasm to cover up some serious guilt over XCOM being defeated during EU/EW, and they're a bit of a romantic with a serious crush on Jane.
> 
> Also, The Commander basically fights like Captain America, except with psionic powers added into the mix. I'm not sure if it's the same Mighty Shield, though, given that Steve Rogers is definitely in the story in some capacity. He's presumably going around in his Nomad persona, which is why The Commander can wield the shield and wear his SHIELD outfit from CA:TWS. 
> 
> Menace is basically my favorite female singers thrown into a team together, so basically you just kind of have to listen to their music or search them up on Wikipedia or something and you'd figure out how they act pretty quickly. And because I was bored, I threw in Hayley Williams alongside some minor updates. So now we've got two Sharpshooters, two Grenadiers and two Specialists, perfectly balanced, as all things should be.
> 
> Conversely, Jane's personality, while slightly defined from her being a part of the XCOM 2 story, required me to basically rebuild her from the ground up. As it stands, she's wary of the world and hesitant to trust a lot of people, partially because things no doubt went to hell when the aliens won and Zhang being Zhang, he probably taught her the ugliness of the world to prepare her to make the hard choices she would no doubt face in the future. 
> 
> She's a bit of an optimist, though. For all of his bitter, 'you need to know how much the world sucks' teaching style, Zhang totally waxed poetic about The Commander and their 'anyone is capable of doing good, if they only try' mindset that led him to be recruited, so she held onto some kind of hope. That, and Menace is basically her family, they consider her to be the 'littlest sister' and shower her with affection, so that kinda helps. 
> 
> I'm not really sure how Zhang died at the moment. Glorious last stand or natural causes, I'm ninety percent sure he went with the former.


	3. The Silver Skyranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An-Yi "Lily" Shen and Melissa "Firebrand" Gaskarth.

_**File Accessed...** _

_**Video Recording Initiated: June 27, 2054, 9:23 AM** _

_**Participants: Annette Zhang Kelly (A), An-Yi "Lily" Shen-Gaskarth (L), Melissa Shen-Gaskarth (M)** _

_**Play? Y/N** _

_**Beginning Playback...** _

_< Camera comes online, static. Lily and Melissa are seated at a table, with Annette on the other side, the camera faintly visible in the window's reflection>  
_

_A: Thanks for sitting down with me, Aunties.  
_

_L: No problem, kiddo. What's this all about?_

_A: Well, as you may have guessed, I'm putting a collection of War With The Elders-era material together, and seeing as you two were in the middle of it all..._

_< Melissa leans back in her seat, an amused smile on her face>_

_M: You want war stories, kiddo?_

_< Annette shakes her head>_

_A: Those kinds of stories can wait. I wanna hear stuff about the people behind XCOM, not just their actions._

_< Lily turns to Melissa, Melissa nods approvingly.>_

_L: Well, in that case, I suppose we could tell you about how we-_

_< Lily gestures at Melissa>_

_L: -became us. It's fairly entertaining. Not a lot of violence in it._

_M: If we leave out the explicit bits, anyways._

_< Lily blushes, Melissa smirks>_

//

It is a hot, sunny day when Melissa Gaskarth meets Lily Shen.

At the time Lily Shen and her father, the legendary Raymond Shen, walk into the camp, Melissa is seated atop her Skyranger, struggling with the overly temperamental port-side thruster, nodding along to the loud and proud sound of Ozzy Osbourne, which blares through her iPod’s earbuds. She doesn’t notice, at least, not until she actually sees them enter her field of view. At twenty three-years of age, the daughter of XCOM’s famed Chief Engineer cuts a striking figure, with raven-jet hair cut into a bob-cut, lightly tanned skin and the practical, yet colorful clothes that she wears. Though her boots are muddied with dirt, her skin streaked with oil and generally disheveled due to some kind of circumstance that demands to be sat down and talked about, Lily is still the most beautiful person that Melissa has ever laid eyes upon.

There is a lightness in her chest, a strange, rushing sensation in the depths of her skin, and she can tell that Lily is the source of that. Melissa really wants to pull her gaze away from the younger Shen, so she can get back to work fixing that damn thruster that’s acting up worse than a lazy teenager during midterms, but she just can’t.

Because dammit, Lily’s smile is infectious.

Talking with her father, Lily is animated. She smiles and gestures and laughs. Her father returns the level of animation, even at his advanced age, where he _really_ should be sitting down and taking it easy. That’s about the same time that the camp leader, Den Mother, if Melissa remembers correctly, comes over to talk with Raymond about something.

And Lily gets bored.

She vibrates with barely contained energy, tapping her feet in impatience as her father talks with Den Mother. She evidently decides that being around the old fogeys is boring, slips away from her father’s side, and begins carefully meandering around working members of the camp, apparently content to just explore her surroundings.

And she’s headed her way.

Let it be known that Melissa Gaskarth, die-hard fangirl of The Prince of Darkness, piloting savant, and revolver-slinging redhead with a _very_ short temper, is _suave_ . She is _smooth._ She does _not_ act like a love-struck waif and lose all sense of coordination at the sight of a pretty woman. On the _other_ hand, Lily Shen, engineering prodigy and fan of things magical, is not the ordinary ‘pretty woman’. She’s more like a goddess, except like, better. She’s probably an angel descended from on high, if that’s the proper set of words for it.

So perhaps losing all sense of coordination is okay, at least in this case.

And about the same time that Lily gets within ten feet of Melissa, apparently drawn to the sight of the Skyranger like a moth to a flame, Melissa loses her grip on the vessel and falls off of her overly precarious perch. It probably won’t hurt much, it’s just grass beneath her, and it’s not that much of a distance, but thoughts of what the dirt will feel like are unceremoniously shoved out of her head upon impact-

-with Lily’s outstretched arms.

“You alright there, princess?” The voice is a concerned and teasing one all at once, and Melissa’s mind goes a-wandering. She finds herself reminiscing as she stares into the light brown eyes of Lily. They remind her of fine chocolates from a life long since gone by, and beneath the scent of oil and dirt and sweat, she can catch the taste of flowers in the air. In the span of about two seconds, the redhead’s mind wonders if it’d be appropriate to throw her arms around the engineer and kiss her savior square on the lips, draws up plans to choreograph said kiss, and is unceremoniously dragged back to the state of mind we like to call rationality, which goes with this thing called ‘give thanks’.

“I’m good, sunflower.” Melissa says, giving what she thinks is a grateful smile. “Thanks for the catch.” The arms lower, depositing Melissa onto the ground, legs first so she can get her footing back, and the inherent hilarity of having been caught by a woman at least four inches shorter and a bit more lean than her has Melissa a bit amused. And so, her brain transitions over to ‘greetings’. “I’m Melissa. Melissa Gaskarth.”

“Lily Shen.” The engineer says, with about the same amount of warmth one would expect in a close friend, not a total stranger. But the look in Lily’s eyes is friendly, warm and welcoming, and Melissa finds herself drawn into the engineer’s aura.

“So, what brings you here to our humble camp, Lily?” She asks, regaining some of her previous confidence. “Was it the food? The abundance of people who actually know what they’re doing? Our charming and friendly aesthetics?”

“Actually, the last camp we were in got blown up by an ADVENT Strike Team. Den Mother offered the survivors a place and that’s how we got here.” Is the response of the shorter woman, and her eyes run up and down Melissa’s body for the briefest of moments before she looks towards the Skyranger. “What seems to be the problem with the ship?” How Lily figured out something was wrong just by looking at the vehicle is no doubt the work of the fact that she’s learned from the greatest engineering mind not affiliated with ADVENT left on the planet.

“The port side thruster on her isn’t working.” Melissa says, inclining her head towards the large, bulky thing. “Found my girl in an ADVENT scrapyard six months ago, according to a manifest I stole off a dead officer, it’s called a Skyranger. Had to repair her with parts taken from the graves of a thousand different vehicles, so she occasionally has off days. Not exactly like there’s a factory around I can raid for state-of-the-art materials.”

“Well, if you have tools, I can help lengthen the time between off-days.” Lily responds, stepping around Melissa and, with a jump, latching onto the Skyranger’s tail section and hauling herself up onto the top of the gunship. Putting her iPod away, Melissa follows her up, knowing by the sound that Lily found the tool box that, like the redhead, had been up there for the better part of the morning. She makes room for Melissa to scoot over and peers at the mess of wires and metal that is the inner workings of the Skyranger’s portside thruster. A hand reaches out, picks out a tool that Melissa hadn’t even thought of using and sets to work on the thing.

She’s a bit surprised at how the woman works the Skyranger with a confidence that rivals her own, and she’s only been in the presence of the vehicle for less than ten minutes. It had taken Melissa weeks to understand how the Skyranger worked, and she’d rebuilt half the vehicle by hand because so much of it was taken out.

“So, where are you from?” Lily asks. It’s a good icebreaker, she supposes.

“Upstate New York.” Melissa says, lifting free a bolt the engineer had given her and placing it gingerly on the Skyranger’s hull. “At least, what used to be Upstate New York. I hear it’s one of ADVENT’s districts now, and that they’re gonna put in a city center there.”

“Taiwan.” Lily says. “Moved to San Francisco when dad was recruited into XCOM, then the world went to hell and we’ve been on the run ever since.”

“Just like me, then.” Melissa says. “Lived with some of the newly formed Resistance cells until I grew up, then wandered around from place to place until I found the Skyranger. I consider it to be my home now, though I haven’t come up with a name for her just yet.”

The engineer gives her an approving nod. “Dad and I have wandered around for the last fifteen years, taking up odd jobs and throwing in with local Resistance groups.” Though she turns her gaze upon Melissa, not once does Lily slip up while working at the Skyranger.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay. Food’s decent, and the people here can actually shoot a damn. Usually.” Melissa says. She’s interrupted when something sparks, and then the thruster roars to life beneath them. Lily shuts it off after a moment spent making sure it’s working, and gives the redhead a thumbs up, satisfaction shining in her eyes. Melissa is genuinely impressed. Few people could grasp the inner workings of the Skyranger, the temperamental girl that she is, so quickly, and yet Lily manages to work the vessel with the kind of grace only a master of the vehicle, such as herself, could manage.

The redhead’s mind briefly contemplates proposing marriage right then and there.

Before her mouth can say anything overly stupid, Lily beats her to the punch and pipes up.

“Anything else you want me to tinker with while I’m here?”

Melissa hops off the Skyranger and gestures at the inside of the vessel, the invitation obvious.

“Well, I could use some help with the old girl’s insides.” She drawls in that Scottish-tinted voice of hers, only for Lily to step right past her and into the Skyranger’s cabin, looking around like a child in a candy store at the exposed wires, half-assembled panels and other such components.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Says the engineer.

//

_< Annette smiles>_

_A: It seems falling into the arms of your future beloved is an XCOM thing._

_M: Hey, I was a lot more graceful than your da._

_L: You fell off the Skyranger._

_< Melissa becomes flustered>_

_M: It was a calculated risk to get your attention._

_< Lily plants a kiss on Melissa's cheek>_

_L: You keep thinking that._

//

Once he’s done with his talk with Den Mother, Raymond Shen wonders where his daughter went. For a moment, paternal concern sparks up and he finds himself worrying, when he spots a vessel rather familiar to his eyes.

The Skyranger. Not the one that had flown XCOM’s best until it had been forced to flee during the fall of their underground headquarters, but the one he’d been working on in engineering the day half of that part of the base caved in and his own staff turned on him. Though it is still the same vessel he’d once built with his own hands, it is aged, and many of the components are not even remotely similar to the ones he’d installed all those years ago. The question of how the vessel even came to be here pops into his mind, before the sound of laughter echoes through the air, and in-between the sound of a voice tinged with a distinct Scottish accent, he can hear Lily’s own familiar cadence.

He walks in the direction of the sound, towards the Skyranger.

The ramp is down, and he can hear the familiar clang of tools and the chattering of voices. For a moment, he imagines he is amidst the Engineering section of the XCOM Base, and not in a resistance camp an entire continent away from said facility, now a smoking ruin left to rot in the hot American sun.

And he pokes his head in.

He sees Lily, talking excitedly and moving animatedly as she works a section of the vessel. A redheaded woman is in there with her, helping her out with a similar amount of vibrant energy. The kind of look that is on Lily’s face is one he’s only seen when she finds something _truly_ interesting to focus on. “I see you’ve made a friend already.” He says, quite pleased that his worries of Lily not fitting in will be put to rest so quickly. Lily’s head swivels in his direction, and she inclines it in the direction of the woman next to her, who has put down the power tool she was working with and given him a respectful nod of greetings.

“This is Melissa!” Says his daughter. “She needed help with the Skyranger!"

The last word has Raymond thinking of days long since gone by, a hand reaching out to touch the nearest surface. He doesn’t have to take apart the thing to know that Lily’s words ring true. This...this is the very same Skyranger prototype he’d built by hand over fifteen years earlier, even if much of it has changed in the interim. “How?” He asks, looking at the woman Lily calls Melissa.

The redhead pulls forth a shrug from the universal bag of social nuances. “Found it in a junkyard, decided it shouldn’t remain there, so I patched up just enough to get her airborne and stole her out from under ADVENT’s nose.” She gives a grin and taps the side of the vessel. “She’s been put together from basically everything I could find and then some, but she works out just fine. Usually.”

“If you don’t mind, I’m gonna stay here and help her improve on it.” Lily says. “Might be useful in the days to come.”

“Might be?” Melissa says, putting on a faux-offended tone. “This is my home you’re talking about! It’s always useful!”

Lily laughs, smacking a hand on Melissa’s back in a jovial manner. Raymond smiles.

Perhaps things will be okay, after all.

//

_< Lily smiles sadly>_

_L: Dad was pushing eighty by then. He was still going, trying his damnedest to keep the Resistance running, even though by that point, almost everyone believed it was a lost cause. He could've given up and no one would've blamed him, but he still held out hope that one day, Earth might be free once more._

_A: And that hope was well-founded._

_< Melissa nods, drinking from a mug with **World's Best Wife** inscribed on it>_

_M: That it was. One tough bastard, Shen Sr. was. Had a spine as strong as any Scot._

_< She waves a hand in the air, flailing her fingers all the way>_

_M: You woulda liked 'em._

_< Annette nods>_

//

Lily comes back the next day, bright and early.

Actually, Melissa wakes up because of Lily, who bangs on the closed ramp of the Skyranger for the better part of the two minutes it takes the redhead to finally claw her way out of dreamland, get up and scramble for the controls to unlock the door. “About time.” Lily says, a sly, amused smile on her face when she notes the disheveled appearance of the pilot. She hefts up a toolbox. “Mind if I get started on this thing while you’re freshening up?”

Melissa is...surprised. Actually. A part of her figured that Lily would’ve been drawn back to the vessel, but she didn’t expect her to come back this quickly. “Yeah. Sure.” She says, stepping aside so Lily can walk towards the cockpit, the shorter woman deftly stepping around the sleeping bag in the troop bay. She eats breakfast and washes up a lot faster than she normally does, mainly because she can hear Lily already disassembling something and she wants to know what it is that she’s digging into. Curiosity flows through her mind like water through a riverbed all throughout her ‘wake-up period’, and not an hour after she’s left to run her morning routine, she’s walking back into the Skyranger, where Lily has bunched up the sleeping bag and tossed it outside and is currently in the middle of disassembling the entire flight console.

“Um…” Begins the redhead, stepping around the disassembled seat, just as Lily yanks out one of the instruments and sets it aside. For the most part, the flight console looks more like an empty metal panel, as basically all the instruments have been set aside on the floor around Lily like the world’s most mechanical puzzle.

“I think the controls aren’t as finely tuned as they should be. You should be soaring through the air like an eagle, not like a constipated penguin.” She says, and gestures at the box. “Come on, pick up a tool and let’s get to work!” It’s not like Melissa needs any incentive for that, so she picks up the most versatile of the tools in the box and starts to help.

Even though the parts for the vessel are diverse enough to the point where one could be forgiven for assuming that it’s some kind of mechanical ecosystem, Lily deciphers the complex components with the kind of ease that has Melissa occasionally pausing in her own work to just admire how she operates. What Melissa can’t figure out through intuition, Lily does through ingenuity. Time and again, she fixes something that Melissa didn’t know was broken, which should theoretically improve the Skyranger’s performance a bit more, and in turn, Melissa’s _feelings_ on any given part cause Lily to try it out, usually bringing a better result than what she’d been initially planning.

 _It’s nice to have a partner._ The redhead thinks.

//

_< Annette's eyes widen>_

_A: Constipated penguin?_

_M: As far as names and comparisons go, not one of Lil's more graceful ones._

_L: It worked, right?_

_M: ...yeah, I guess it did._

//

It’s been a month.

At this point, it’s pretty clear that the camp is the new home of Lily and her father. The Shens have bunkered down in a hut in the center of the camp, close to the area where Den Mother resides. Not that Lily minds her new locale. It’s a nice enough place to be in, better than the last couple of camps, this one has some actual shelter and the people here are a bit nicer.

And there’s the Skyranger.

That vessel is a puzzle, one she’s all too eager to explore. When she’s not helping her dad at whatever thing needs doing, she runs right back over to the Skyranger to continue working on it. Even with her expertise, the thing is still temperamental and uncooperative, and frankly, she’d have it no other way.

It’s a goddamn challenge. Lily likes challenges.

Her mind wanders over to the topic of Melissa. The pilot knows what she’s doing, that’s for sure, even if a good chunk of her technical jargon flies right over the red-haired woman’s head. She’s self-taught in all manners mechanical, if she had to guess, and that’s something she’ll have to see about correcting in the future. But right now, the Skyranger, and all its secrets, can wait. She’s hungry. Finding food isn’t the hard part, it’s finding a place to sit down and eat that is. So, the engineer falls back on the familiar, and decides to take her meal at the Skyranger. Melissa is inside, listening to her iPod when Lily walks in. She lowers the volume immediately, pulls out the earbuds and tilts her head in greetings, catching a glimpse of the food in her hands. “Wanted to eat somewhere relatively quiet.” Lily says, and Melissa simply nods, gesturing at a spot next to her. “Want something?”

“I’m good.” Melissa responds. “Finished lunch about twenty minutes ago, then decided to sit down and enjoy some tunes.”

“Ah…” Lily says, swallowing down a mouthful of her meal. “What do you have on it?”

“Oh, the good stuff. Ozzy Osbourne, AC/DC, Hole, Metallica, The Rolling Stones, Nirvana, Rush, The Who, Black Sabbath, basically everything my parents listened to back when I was a kid. Ozzy’s my favorite of the bunch.” She touches the device and rubs a thumb along it in a fond manner. “I’ve had it with me since the aliens burned down New York and my parents with it. Only thing I have left of them.”

Because _of course_ the topic spirals back around to the aliens. _It always does._ Muses Lily, as she processes this information and continues to eat. Melissa, for her part, seems content to keep talking. “It keeps me sane.” She says, and her light brown eyes go distant, looking somewhere very far away, a place years in the past.

And then she raises one of the earbuds in offering towards Lily. “Wanna listen?”

The engineer nods, and the redhead’s fingers come around and place the little devices in her ears. Immediately, she’s in a world all to her own, filled with naught but the sound of an era long since gone by.

_“Over the mountain, take me across the sky-”_

It’s good, Lily decides.

_“Something in my vision, sometihng deep inside!”_

In a strange way, it reminds her of home.

_“Where did I wander? Where'd ya think I wandered to-”_

Perhaps that’s the point.

_“-I've seen life's magic, astral plane I traveled through-”_

//

_< Melissa leans back in her seat, smiling>_

_A: Ozzy-_

_M: -is the greatest musician ever. Of all time._

_L: I still think it's Queen._

_M: ...okay, yeah, that's fair. At least it's not Justin Bieber._

_< laughter>_

//

Two months in, the weather changes.

Gone are the hot and sunny days, and in its place are thunderstorms. Endless thunderstorms. Den Mother thinks that’s a good thing, because it means the water purification system she’s been working on can be expanded and used to make use of the rainwater, but for Lily and Melissa, it plays hell with their attempts to fix up the Skyranger. “I hate it when it’s raining.” Lily grouses, on a day when the rain is so thick that if one stripped down and stepped outside with a bar of soap, they could probably clean themselves off pretty well.

Giving an amused smile to the engineer, Melissa pops open a compartment, tosses her a bag of patches and goes back to working at the fuel lines. “I know, right? Can’t work on the hull while the storm’s going on. Well, at least we’ve got most of the leaks patched.” A drop of water falls on her shoulder. “Except that one, evidently.” Lily grumbles and slams a sealant patch onto the leak in question. It’s a temporary fix, at least until they can properly weld something over the hole.

“Personally, I would recommend using the sealant patches _outside_ , to keep the water from weighing them down and pushing the patch off.” Comes a third voice that has them both turning in the direction of the door, where the elder Shen is standing, water dripping off his form.

“Dad! You were supposed to stay in the hut, where it’s warm!” Lily exclaims, sounding rather annoyed, and her father gives her a simple chuckle in return.

“Well, I could hardly be expected to sit around in there while others are still doing their duties in this monsoon.” He says, walking inside. The elder Shen at least had the sense to wear clothes suited for the rain, so at least he’s not sopping wet. That’s a sight Melissa doesn’t really wanna see. Like, at all.

“I have a towel.” Melissa blurts out. “It’s mostly for psychological value, but I can always spare it if you need it.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” The old man says, waving her off. “I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing, working on the Skyranger. She’s a bit of a temperamental girl. They all were.”

Melissa raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “So you’re telling me that my baby’s tendency to buck a bit on take-off is hereditary?” And, possibly because she referred to _his_ creation as _her_ baby, he gives her an amused smile.

“Yes...yes it is.” He says. “The Commander’s team found that out the hard way many times.” He lingers on the thought of his fallen leader for a moment, before shaking himself out of it and moving on. “But I trust that you’ll be able to work it out, especially with Lily’s help.”

“I’d trust no one else to help me with this.” Melissa says. Behind her, Lily has a sharp intake of breath, turning around with a carefully disguised look of surprise on her face.

“Really?” She asks, looking nonchalant about the compliment. “Just me?”

“What can I say?” Melissa asks. “I’m pretty damn protective of my girl.”

“You haven’t even given her a name yet!” Lily says, a smile breaking out on her face. Melissa returns the gesture.

“I was hoping you’d help me with that one!” She responds. “At this point, she’s my girl as much as she is yours!”

As the two of them descend into friendly banter, Raymond steps back out into the storm. He hasn’t seen Lily this happy since before he left to join XCOM almost sixteen years ago. A part of him is glad that what he’s been working on with the other Resistance leaders in the region will keep him here for the foreseeable future, he’d hate to have to pack up and go if something happened.

Lily wouldn’t want to come with him. Not without Melissa.

//

_< Lily takes a drink from a water bottle>_

_L: Even then, Dad knew you and I were meant to be something greater together._

_M: Which is just fancy talk for "could see we were doin' the eye sex" before we did._

_L: ...yeah._

_< Annette, biting a candy bar, pauses for a long moment>_

//

One night, Melissa comes back from dinner and finds Lily, asleep in the Skyranger.

Tools are scattered haphazardly all across the floor, and she’s out cold, slumped against the wall, Melissa’s iPod in one hand and the earbuds in. The redhead smiles a bit, and begins to gather up the disparate tools. She’s careful to just step around Lily, and to move in a manner that doesn’t make a lot of noise. She lays out her sleeping bag and unzips the thing, and after gingerly removing the earbuds and iPod from Lily and setting the thing to charge, she scoops up Lily and tucks her in. She examines the work she’s done. The flight console has been completely fixed for a few weeks now, and the ceiling looks intact, which means that whatever Lily was working on was elsewhere. It then occurs to her that the flooring is a bit different. It’s more solid, less rickety, and the seats in the vessel look cleaner and less like they were pulled out of a scrapped airliner, which, in all fairness, they were.

 _Ah._ Goes a neuron in her head. _Renovations._ That’s nice of Lily, Melissa muses. Making sure that they can fly is the primary concern, but being able to fly in comfort was something that she hadn’t even been thinking of. Maybe because she’s used to the way the Skyranger’s seats and floor have always squeaked and bounced and generally just felt weird.

_Lily’s so considerate._

Her thoughts wander elsewhere. The curve of Lily’s face, the gentle way her hair falls around her, framed in such a manner that it accentuates her eyes and lips _just so_. Lily is a fun person to hang around, and she never gets bored of her technical babble or the long, winding explanations on mechanical parts she finds particularly interesting or any of the ideas she has to upgrade the Resistance’s gear.

 _I like her._ Another internal star in her mind chimes. That’s the word for it.

She really does like Lily. Telling her about that might be a bit of a different story.

Maybe later.

//

_< Annette swallows her second candy bar in the recording>_

_L: I swear to god I've gotten better at the whole workaholic thing._

_M: Well it's been twenty-five years, you better have._

_< Lily laughs>_

_A: You mean your current work ethic is you-_

_L: -taking it easy? Yeah. I used to work 'til I dropped back in those days, mostly because in those days, you could end up dead at the drop of a hat, so you took every moment you could get. I eventually started seeing life for more than just the workload._

_M: After I started shoving my hand down your pants while you were bent over and trying to get at an unruly piece of piping, yeah._

_A: ...I'm gonna go ahead and pretend I didn't hear that._

_M: Sex, Mini-Jane. Works wonders for getting sticks outta people's asses._

_< Lily whirls on Melissa>_

_M: Not that Sunflower here had a stick up her ass, then or now. Just an observation._

//

“What about _The Valiance?_ ”

Lily raises an eyebrow in curiosity over the question. At her spot at the dinner table, Melissa gives her a shrug. “You know, for the Skyranger. Could call her ‘Val’ for short.” The redhead adds, and Lily gives a thoughtful hum as she mulls it over.

“I like it.” She says. “Catchy name, inspiring on some level.”

“Pity we don’t have paint.” Melissa says, sighing. “Mostly grey with a bit of yellow isn’t exactly what I was looking for on a gunship like her. Was thinking of putting a few decals on the side, along with the name.”

“I’m sure I can scrounge up something.” Lily says.

A week later, Melissa comes back from breakfast and finds several cans of paint, along with a note and a set of brushes.

_Let’s just say ADVENT’s not gonna be happy about that particular raid. Have fun. - L_

The redhead smiles.

From her perch atop a repurposed shipping crate, Lily smiles as she sees Melissa gather up the art supplies and begin to work. “Shouldn’t you join her?” Raymond asks, and Lily shakes her head.

“It’s fun to watch her play.” the engineer responds.

 _She’s so cute when she’s happy._ She thinks.

//

_< Annette blinks and wipes her mouth with a napkin>_

_A (Muffled): Romantic gestures were so weird during those days._

_L: Raiding an outpost for paint is infinitely more romantic than watching a movie about horny werewolves and vampires double-penetrating virgin teenage girls._

_M: That was oddly specific._

_< Lily blushes, Annette coughs>_

_M: ...what kinda porn are you downloading these days._

//

It’s a year to the day that the Shens arrived at the camp when Lily and Melissa consider the Skyranger to _finally_ be done.

The last panel has been bolted in, the last leak has been patched, wires laid and fluid lines put in, the XCOM logo, Ace of Spades decals and _The Valiance_ painted onto the side of the hull. For all intents and purposes, their job is done. “Shall we give her a test run?” Lily asks, as she places her hands on her hips and looks at the Skyranger with a satisfied look on her face.

“Why not?” Melissa responds, grabbing Lily’s hand and leading her towards the Skyranger. “Come on, you deserve to be here when she takes flight. Or explodes. Preferably the former.” Rolling her eyes in an amused manner, Lily follows the redhead into the gunship and stands behind her as she settles into the pilot’s seat. When Melissa activates the Skyranger and nothing explodes, or sparks, or makes funny whistling noises, she feels comfortable in assuming the vessel will probably get off the ground and pulls back on the controls, lifting it into the air, minus the characteristic rumbling and imbalance that had plagued it for so long. Upwards, ever upwards, does she soar, delighting in the way the ship moves with every shift of her hands, her fingers. She laughs, relishing the feeling of her ship _finally_ gaining the true grace and beauty that it should’ve had all those months ago. The Skyranger truly flies, truly soars, and she loves every second of it. Music begins to play, and a glance back at Lily has the woman giving her a smile. The redhead’s iPod is hooked into the Skyranger’s audio system, and as the familiar cadence of the songs they’ve both come to love fills the air, she can’t help but smile.

_Lily thinks of everything._

//

_< Lily laughs>_

_L: I **do** think of everything. It's why I'm still here._

_M: One of these days, Mini-Jane, I'm gonna take you for a ride in the Skyranger. Trust me, you'll love it._

_A: That'd be fun! Though I might have to ask mom and dad first-_

_M: -they'll say yes, trust me._

//

“Beautiful, huh?” Lily asks.

They’ve set the Skyranger down on a cliffside, one that overlooks a river that flows majestically through the land. Melissa has to admit that the sight is rather beautiful, but she finds herself thinking of how the sunlight glints off of Lily’s skin and accentuates her hair just so. She gets a bit distracted by the woman at her side, so much that she forgets to answer the question. “Lissa…” Sing-songs the engineer, knocking her out of her reverie with a little tap on the shoulder. “Ground control to Major Lissa…”

“Sorry.” Goes a sheepish redhead, before her heart takes over and the sentence continues. “I was distracted.” She turns towards Lily and gives her a little, placating smile. “I was just thinking about something.”

_About you, actually._

“About what?” Lily asks, and when she looks into her eyes, Melissa finds words failing her. Her response is meant to be elegant, explanatory and meaningful, but as she gazes into Lily’s eyes, she finds herself thinking of little other than how much she likes her...

_You’re beautiful, Lily. You’re kind and smart and I’d love nothing more than to kiss you-_

“I want to kiss you too.”

Melissa’s heart skips a beat. “Did I say that-”

“-out loud? Yes.” Giggles Lily, and her hands reach out and draw the redhead in.

“For the record, I meant for the confession of my feelings to be more elegant than that.” Melissa says, as her forehead connects with Lily’s and the eyes of the engineer flare with emotion. “But I suppose just being myself will have to do.”

Lily grins. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She says. “Just you, Melissa. Always you.”

And under the light of the sunset, their lips meet.

//

_< Melissa grins>_

_M: And then we fucked. It was awesome._

_L: Totally._

_< Annette blinks rapidly>_

_A: We'll leave that off the record, me thinks._

_L: Probably for the best, yeah. Your curiosity satisfied?_

_< Annette smiles>_

_A: Yep! Thanks!_

_< Lily returns the smile>_

_L: No problem, kid._

_< Annette reaches towards recorder->_

**_End_ _Recording_ **

//

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melissa basically is Karen Gillan, if Karen Gillan dressed up like a punk-rocker and carried a revolver. She definitely has a flight suit lying around somewhere because Bradford wants her to be professional, but I like to imagine she wears old band shirts, a biker jacket, ripped jeans and a multi-color headband, and has spikey bracelets or something.
> 
> And why a revolver, I dunno. Her parents were probably big fans of Clint "Kicks Ass For A Living" Eastwood and the Dirty Harry movies and even though semi-automatic pistols are probably better, she just likes being able to do the whole "five bullets or six" thing. And I have the sneaking suspicion she's actually using the Ace of Spades from Destiny, or at least, painted said revolver to look like it. 'Cause she's a bit of an artist in addition to piloting. Everyone's gotta have a hobby, and she probably likes to listen to music on her iPod while she's painting.
> 
> Yes, I'm aware that Firebrand in-game is basically a faceless avatar with a very American voice who seems to live in the Skyranger and not do much other than ferry the unlucky pixelated people to go kill other pixelated people. Which is why I took the liberty of redesigning her to the point where she's basically unrecognizable, save for the whole 'flies people around' thing. Then again, we are gonna be seeing a lot of Melissa in the future, so we can't have her be a blank slate when she's basically one of the main cast. 
> 
> Lily's personality kinda divulges from her in-game characterization of being a workaholic who almost never smiles or does anything except try to kill the genocidial aliens, but that's okay, because we're witnessing Lily pre-Raymond biting the dust and she's also with Melissa, who brings out the best(ish) in her. And because I need to expand on her personality like basically every other character in XCOM because they're mostly defined by a few characteristics and therefore need expansion.
> 
> And Raymond is totally chill with his daughter being with another woman. He's just like "Is Lily Happy?" and if the answer is yes, he doesn't care.
> 
> For those of you who read the original version, "If I Stay So Brave 'Til Then, Will I Find My Way Again?", I took the elements of that story and split them up, since I'm no longer bound by character restrictions and am therefore free to expand upon the plot that I kind of had to compress into that story.
> 
> Story now has been updated to include the Ozzy Osbourne bent, given that he's Melissa's favorite artist and therefore it just kinda suits her.


	4. Lost And Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the delving into the canonical missions of WOTC begins!

_**Avenger database access requested, requesting authentication...** _

_**...authentication confirmed. Welcome, Annette Zhang Kelly.** _

_**Initiating Database Search...** _

_**Reapers, Templars and Skirmishers...4283 Results** _

_**Resistance Meetings...117 Results** _

_**Resistance-XCOM Joint Operations...56 Results** _

_**Spring 2035 Resistance-XCOM Joint Operations...14 Results** _

_**...Operation Forgemaster Located** _

_**Operation Forgemaster Video Log 1.1 Accessed, Commencing Playback**..._

//

“This is a joke.”

Konstantine Volk, leader of the Reapers, alien hunter extraordinaire, and on-again-off-again boyfriend of Jonathan Q. Bradford, seriously began to question the sanity of his kind-of-beloved.

“I’m not joking, Volk.” Bradford said. In fact, I’m very serious right now. The Commander wants the Reapers and the Skirmishers to ally with each other.”

“...Did you hit your head recently?” Volk asked, voice tightening. “You are aware of what those... _things_ did to our people, right? And now you’re telling me that The Commander wants my men to _play nice_ with them, like we’re just going to forget _twenty years_ of them committing atrocities in the name of the Elders?”

“I’m not asking you to hold hands and sing Kumbaya.” Said a firm voice, as The Commander strode into the room and fixed the Reaper with a glare. “I’m asking you to _work_ with the Skirmishers so we can force the Elders off of our planet.”

“Ah, Commander.” Volk said, in the kind of voice usually used to refer to particularly annoying people, such as the person in the blue-starred uniform giving him a look that suggested he tone down his abrasive behavior, and stat. “May I ask why you think it’s a good idea to form an alliance with the ex-ADVENT splinter group?”

“You mean besides the fact that their leader, Betos, has agreed to _not_ shoot at you until after a potential meeting?” The Commander retorted. “Well, let’s see, they’ve got information regarding ADVENT’s inner workings that even _I_ don’t have, they’re legitimately willing to work with us, provided we sort out your little catfight with them, and I know for a fact that the Elders aren’t _that_ smart when it comes to laying traps with brainwashed agents.”

“And that is exactly why the Skirmishers cannot be trusted! Besides the fact that they’ve shot at my men, the amount of information they know about ADVENT is rather convenient for them to just pop out of the blue and offer us ‘gifts’ in exchange for an alliance.” Volk said, leaning back in his seat. “Make no mistake, they are the enemy, Commander...and the enemy is food.”

“...You’re seriously dating this guy?” The Commander asked, staring at Bradford.

“Well, technically, yeah. Look, twenty years of being a crazy survivalist kind of changed him. We’re not making out in strip clubs anymore.” The Central Officer muttered.

“I can hear you just fine, _Johnny."_

“I know, _Konstantine."_ Bradford said. “Dude, seriously, _please_ at least think this over. We need all the help we can get in this war.”  

“...fine, John. I’ll think it over.” Said an annoyed Reaper. “Good day.”

And the comm blinked off.

“That went better than I expected.” The Commander said.

“Yeah. Normally it takes the mere mention of Betos to send him into a frothing rage.” Bradford said. “Can’t blame him, though. Those two groups have been in firefights with each other several times in the past. ADVENT’s the most outwardly visible sign of the alien occupation, and the Reapers just refuse to acknowledge the difference between them and the Skirmishers.”

“Let me know when he gives you an answer.” The Commander ordered. “If he says yes, notify me immediately so I can get Betos on the line to arrange a time and date for a meeting. If he says no, set course for Skirmisher territory. One way or another, we’re getting one of those groups on our side. The Templars are good, but we don’t have enough hands on deck right now.”

“True. We could’ve avoided the loss of the Chilean havens if we had more people on hand.” Bradford said. “If only we could just get Volk and Betos to play ball…”

“And that’s easier said than done.” The Commander finished.

//

_**Operation Forgemaster Video Log 1.2 Accessed, Playback Commencing...** _

//

“I’ll do it.” Volk said.

“...really.” Bradford asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re being straight with me.”

“As straight as the day back in Vegas when I said I kinda liked you, yeah.” Said the bearded man. “Tell the Commander I want the meeting to be set somewhere quiet and out of the way, in _neutral_ territory. If shit hits the fan, I’d like to not lead those _things_ back home.”

“Fine.” Bradford said. “I’ll let them know.”

“Oh, and John…” Added a survivalist with serious attitude problems. “I’m sending you my best. If she doesn’t come back from the meeting in one piece, you won’t hear from me or my men ever again.”

Resisting the urge to groan, Bradford gave a nod. “Whatever you say.”

//

_**Operation Forgemaster Video Log 1.3 Accessed, Playback Commencing...** _

//

“I find these terms agreeable.” Said Betos, golden eyes glowing in the faint light of the room.

“That’s good to hear.” The Commander said, giving the leader of the Skirmishers a kind smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get a place closer to your own turf, but Volk doesn’t trust you one bit, hell, I think the only person he trusts outside of his men is Bradford, and that seems to be the only reason he’s agreed to this.”

“His suspicion is quite...understandable.” Betos said. “Nearly all of my forces have been brought to bear against humanity in some way or another, save for the ones who were fortunate enough to be in administrative duties prior to their liberation. Combined with the minor quarrels we have had over the course of the past several years, I do not begrudge his anger.” She folded her arms serenely. “As a gesture of goodwill, I accept the choice of meeting place, and I will send one of my best men as a emissary.”

The Commander nodded. “Just one?”

“Well, if we’re lucky, this’ll just be aggressive negotiations, and not start a galactic war. Besides, I was told by Geist that _you_ would be handling security for this particular operation.”

XCOM’s leader smiled. “You remember my old teachings.” They said. “Good to know some of the things I did in the tank weren’t all that bad.”

“I learned from the best.” Betos responded.

“And let me get this straight, you’re _talking_ to Geist?”

Betos looked away for a moment. “Well...it’s a bit more than talking, but yes.”

“I think I missed something between causing your chip to malfunction and the present.” The Commander said.

“Yes...yes you did.” Betos remarked.

//

_**Opening File...** _

_**Audio Recording Initiated: July 2, 2054 (4:45 PM)** _

_**Participants: Annette Zhang Kelly (A) Elena Dragunova (E), Pratal Mox (P)** _

_**Play? Y/N** _

_**Commencing Playback...** _

_< shuffling noises>_

_P: -ser any questions you may have._

_E: What he said. What would you like to know, Little Spark?_

_A: Operation Forgemaster. Specifically, your parts in it._

_E: <sighs> ...shit. That's a memory I'd rather keep down, but-_

_A: We can always skip out on it if it makes you uncomfortable._

_E: No! I mean...look...some of that stuff...it still haunts-_

_P: -us._

_E: But she...she deserves to be remembered._

_A: Who?_

_E: My sister._

//

**Summer, 2030**

_“Keep up, Elena!”_

_The girl ahead of her was running, climbing ever higher, jumping ever further, running ever faster. Her name was Kestra Dragunova, the little sister of Elena Dragunova, and she was happy._

_Onwards did Elena run, dancing deftly across the ground as merrily as one would prance through the morning mist in a field on a summer’s morning. She could hear the sounds of the animals in the air, the taste of the fresh, morning breeze that bore down on them and carried away all thoughts except each other._

_And, with a cheer inherent to twelve-year old girls, Kestra reached the tree, hit it lightly with an outstretched palm, and turned towards her elder sister with a bright smile. “I won!” She shouted, jumping up and down in celebration, and Elena felt herself break into a smile._

_“Yes, you won.” She said, and her arms wrapped around her baby sister and gave her a gentle squeeze._

**Spring,** **2035**

“Dragunova.”

Looking up, Elena found herself looking into the eyes of a fellow Reaper. Zhao, if she remembered correctly. “Volk wants you. He’s in the command center.” Getting up from the chair she was in, Elena went searching for her leader. He was no doubt going to assign her to some stupid scouting op, _again_ , and she would have to just go along with it. That and, well, the last time he’d asked her to do something, she’d been sent in to do recon on the facility where XCOM’s Commander was being held, which hadn’t been fun _at all._

Still, she supposed that given that had been a couple months back, either he was sending her to do something equally important, or they were resuming their old schedule of him telling her to do something stupid, and her doing it.

Probably the latter.

“Reporting, sir.” She said, stepping into the burned out church that Volk used as his HQ. “What do you need?”

“I need you to act as an emissary for me.” Volk said, fixing her with a _serious_ look, which meant that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. “XCOM has been... _adamant_ about finding allies to fight this war, and they’ve asked that we put aside our grievances with the Skirmishers in the interest of taking on the Elders together.”

“I am _not_ the negotiating type.” Elena responded. “Send someone else.”

“Unfortunately for you, I feel that given your previous history with helping XCOM get their Commander back, you’re actually the best choice for working with them on this op, seeing as they’re the ones facilitating the meeting.” Volk said, eyes narrowing. “If you _really_ don’t want to go, I’ll send someone else, but…”

Elena sighed. “Fine.” She ground out, voice sounding like she’d just chewed glass.

Volk smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it won’t be _too_ painful. Probably.”

//

_**Opening File...** _

_**Video Recording Initiated: June 30, 2054 (3:32 PM)** _

_**Alert Splicing of Files (ParentsAuntsLostandAbandoned.mp4) and (elenaandmoxlostandabandoned.mp4) in progress...** _

_**Participants: Annette Zhang Kelly (A), Taylor Swift (T), Ellie Goulding (EG), Chrissy Costanza (CC), Carly Rae Jepsen (CRJ), Hayley Williams (H), Lynn Gunn (L), Jane Kelly (J), The Commander (C), Elena Dragunova (ED), Pratal Mox (P)** _

_**Play? Y/N** _

_**Playback Commencing...** _

_< Close-up of Lynn Gunn, former lead singer of PVRIS (Status: Disbanded). Eyebrows are raised, sign of potential exasperation>_

_L: Operation Forgemaster? Yeah...shitshow all around. It all started when a bunch of idiots decided that neutral ground would be the burnt out husk of San Diego-  
_

_< Camera shifts to Taylor Swift, who has exasperated facial expression>_

_T: -instead of the Avenger, which would've been a lot easier._

_< Camera shifts to Carly Rae Jepsen, who is stroking the fur of a cat (designated: Shrampton II)>_

_CRJ: What can you expect? The Stanford Trees and Cal Bears have never gotten along._

_< Camera shifts to Chrissy Costanza, former lead singer of Against The Current (Status: Disbanded) Facial expression suggests agitation>_

_CC: So, we get told by your dad over there that we've got a mission to get into..._

_< Camera shifts to Ellie Goulding, resigned expression present on face>_

_EG: ...and it involves playing security guard. Sounds easy, right?_

_< Annette makes noise of affirmation, camera shifts to Hayley Williams, former lead singer of Paramore (Status: Disbanded)>_

_H: Well, it wasn't._

//

“You know, most people have meetings in civilized places.” Taylor said.

“I know…” Chrissy muttered, grabbing her rifle and beginning to check it over.

“Well, we had to give Volk _something._ ” Said the Commander, as they grabbed their shield and slid it onto their back. “Apparently, Reapers are at home in the ruins of the big cities, and short of Bradford going over to Reaper HQ and ‘doing nightly negotiations’, I doubt Volk would’ve agreed to anything else.”

“And that’s why we’re meeting in the ruins of San Diego.” Jane said.

“Pretty much.” The Commander replied, sliding her a box of shotgun shells. “If it makes you feel any better, ADVENT isn’t likely to show up. Geist is doing us a favor and staging an attack one of their Blacksites to draw away the regional garrison.”

“You actually trust that lunatic?” Chrissy asked, sliding her rifle onto her back.

“Stroke his ego enough, he’ll do anything. And I think Betos helped sweeten the deal with some things that probably should remain unmentioned.” The Commander mused, grabbing their M1911 and sliding it into its holster. “In any case, the plan is simple, go in, facilitate the meeting and make sure they’re not gonna try killing each other, pull everyone out and bring them back to the Avenger for further talks.”

“So what are we being brought in for?” Taylor asked.

“Security, mostly.” The Commander said. “The two individuals Betos and Volk offered up are the only representatives there, so it’s up to us to ensure they walk out of it alive. Otherwise…”

“Ah…” Said the singer. “I hate negotiations. Had to do those so many times with my label…”

//

_P: I remember that day. It was a truly important one for me.  
_

_ED: So I've heard. Had I known you were the emissary, I would have never shown up._

_P: And I would've accepted that._

_ED: You're lucky we had poor communication lines back then. It was too late for me to back out by the time you got there._

//

“You summoned me?”

Giving a nod, Betos gestured for Pratal Mox to take a seat. “As you have no doubt heard, we are making an attempt to form an alliance with the Reapers, and this meeting is to be overseen by XCOM. The Liberator has expressed their desire in ensuring we have the best chances at defeating the False Gods.”

“I volunteer.” Mox said. “I know I am not the most sociable or the most pleasant among us, but I volunteer for the task...because of my past.” He added. “I know what it is like to commit great wrongs and then attempt to right them.”

“I was planning to send someone else, and order you to protect them, but in light of your point, I believe that you will prove sufficient for the task.” Betos said. “If we are to be accepted, we must first be understood, and you are living proof of our history and philosophy of trying to find atonement for all the sins we have committed.”

“I will not fail you.” Mox said. “For the good of our people.”

Betos extended her hand and balled it into a fist. He met it with a fist of his own.

“For the good of our people.” She mirrored.

//

_CRJ: We were dancing in the streetlights, drunk on twilight, when it occurred to me I wasn't in Kansas anymore. San Diego...a place of dances, of dreams...how I hope it dreams again someday.  
_

_CC: I don't think they've finished rebuilding San Diego yet._

_C: Las Vegas is better anyways. More strip clubs._

_EG: Gigs are better in San Diego, though. Doesn't beat New York though, or England. Love England._

//

“The night has no light, it almost blinds me.”

“...you'll be fine, Queen.” Jane said, patting Carly on the back. “You like running in the streetlights anyways.”

“I liked to run when we had lights to run in.” Said the Canadian. “We have _lanterns_ now.”

“Point taken.” The Ranger responded, holding her shotgun and checking it over another time. The sword on her back had been sharpened to perfection, and the weapon was fully loaded, so there was no need to really keep checking. _Get ahold of yourself, dammit._ Jane thought.

“Gather around, girls.” Ellie said. “The Commander’s being all Commandery again.”

“I am _not_!” The Commander responded, sounding affronted in that faux tone they liked to use. Ellie simply flashed them a smile. “But yeah, gather around, ladies.”

A hologram appeared in the middle of the group. “Our respective jello cats have agreed to have the meeting here, out by the old train station. Their emissaries are operating in these two areas on opposite sides of it, so the plan is fairly straightforward, split up into two teams, Melissa drops us off relatively close by, we find them, bring them to the train station and see if they’re gonna bring out the claws or not.”

“And if they do?” Lynn asked.

“Side with whoever shoots second.” The Commander said.

//

_ED: Her name was Kestra, and she was the best little sister a girl could've asked for. Sure, she was a bit of a pain in the ass at times, but if you and your siblings don't have a moment where you're at each other's throats <laughs> then what kind of a relationship do you have?  
_

_A: Sort of like the one dad and Uncle Bradford have?_

_ED: Yeah. Except with a lot less chair-throwing. Kestra was such a sweet girl, wouldn't have harmed a fly._

_ED: <sighs>_

_ED: But you know what they say about the good..._

//

**Summer 2030**

_“Elena, Elena! Look what I found!”_

_Turning her head, Elena saw Kestra run in, holding up a box. “I found it in a shop while I was out with mommy! Cool, huh?” She set the box down and displayed the cover to her elder sister. The word Monopoly was emblazoned on the top. “Do you wanna play?”_

_Smiling, Elena gestured at the nearby table. “Of course, let’s figure out how to!”_

_And so, they played the game, long into the night._

_Their parents found them asleep in the chairs, and by all indications, Kestra had won._

_Elena didn’t contest the decision. Anything to see her sister smile._

//

_H: San Diego was fun. Toured there a few times._

_C: I know. Saw you in concert, too._

_H: Think I remember that. Vaguely._

_C: I might have the shirt lying around somewhere. I'll check._

//

“For the record, I always wanted to visit San Diego.” Melissa said. “Not like this.”

“It was beautiful once.” The Commander said. “If we win this war, it will be again.”

“Care to share a story?” Jane asked, peering out the Skyranger’s cockpit as they descended towards the first LZ.

“The theater in here was one of my favorite places to visit.” The Commander mused. “Good memories.”

“Most of us toured here at some point.” Lynn said. “Coming back to these ruins is hard.”

“No kidding.” Melissa hummed. “So, what’s the group order? You know, so I can pick you guys up and know whose who right away.”

“Jane, you take Hayley, Carly and Ellie and go find the Reaper representative. Chrissy, Lynn, Taylor, you’re with me. Let’s go find Betos’ emissary.”

“In that case, it’s your stop first, Commander.” Melissa said. “Have fun down there!”

“I bet I get more kills than you.” Jane said, just as the Commander made to jump out of the Skyranger. They turned back towards her and gave her a little grin.

“We’ll see about that, Rabbit.”

//

_P: It was a simple matter to enter the city. To remain hidden...not so.  
_

_E: That's because you're terrible at stealth._

_P: True._

_E: And you don't think things through._

_P: Also true._

_E: **And** you think that humming **In The Hall Of The Mountain King** makes you a better fighter._

_P: Blame the Great Liberator for that one._

//

Pratal was perched atop a building when he saw them.

An ADVENT Patrol, sweeping the buildings near him. They weren’t close enough to his position to have spotted him, but given that this was the rendezvous point with XCOM, he knew that a confrontation would be inevitable if XCOM showed up before they were gone.

 _Might as well end their suffering._ Thought the Skirmisher, and, hooking his grappling line into the nearest railing, he slid down the side of the building and prepared to ambush the squadron.

//

_< Carly Rae Jepsen is humming softly, leaning against Lynn Gunn and burying her face into the goth>_

_L: So after we split up, we went wandering through the city. Guided by Claptrap.  
_

_< Annette's face widens in shock>_

_CC: It's okay, he didn't fuck up giving us directions. Much._

//

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Taylor asked.

“Of course I’m sure, Catastrophe!” Came the voice of Claptrap, the one running mission control for their side of the op. “According to all the records I have with me, you merely need to go down two blocks to your left, one to your right, and you’ll be at the meeting point!”

“Thanks, Clap.” The Commander said.

“This place is spooky.” Chrissy muttered, raising her rifle and sweeping it across an alleyway. The flashlight on her gun illuminated the mummified bodies of those who had been in the city when the aliens came, and the remnants of vehicles and debris littered the street. “Like we’re in Chernobyl or something.”

“Price has been there.” Lynn said. “He said it’s not a fun place to be.”

“I can imagine.” Taylor said, sniper rifle sweeping across the street they were crossing. “Though you’d have to ask him if a place like this is creepier with or without the addition of the bodies-”

An explosion cut off the blonde, and judging by the flare of orange on the walls, it was close.

“That’s not good.” Chrissy said, just as gunfire rang out. “Really not good!”

“Come on!” The Commander said, raising their shield and breaking into a run. They followed their leader around the corner, just in time to witness an ADVENT soldier in bright orange armor to run out of a large billowing cloud of smoke, only to be reeled right back in by a hook.

“The hell?” Lynn asked, raising her minigun, just in time for a figure to step out of the smoke, clad in what looked like ADVENT’s armor, except battered and tarnished, something _no_ ADVENT regulation allowed. Blood stained one of his hands.

“She is free of the False Gods.” Said the now decidedly male figure, stepping forwards. “I am Pratal Mox, representative for Betos.”

“XCOM, but I think you already knew that.” The Commander responded.

“That I do, Liberator.” Mox said. “Come, there will doubtlessly be more of them, and we must leave before they locate us.”

//

_< Annette stares with a curious expression>_

_A: They?_

_CRJ: The lost ones. The cursed. The...creatures. All dead now, you need not fear them. But they..._

_H: Even now, the Lost still give me nightmares._

_CC: They gave everyone nightmares. Except for Ghost. He gave them nightmares._

//

“I’ve never been to America.” Jane said. “At least, not until now...and I find it depressing.”

“You weren’t around for the elections.” Hayley said. “But that’s a story for later. _Way_ later.” She hefted her minigun and peered into a shop, furrowing her brow at the sight of what was within. “It’s been twenty years and the aliens haven’t bothered to clean this mess up?”

“Outside of their city centers and blacksites, they don’t really seem to do much of anything with the world.” Ellie mused. “Gives us some room to operate, at least. But it’s sickening, seeing how ADVENT touts cooperation and friendship and yet basically every city we’ve ever built is either a carcass left to rot or something they commandeered for their own purposes.”

“The day we take those bastards down will be a good one.” Carly said, clutching her rifle a bit more tightly.

“Word.” Jane responded, a little smile appearing on her face at the words of the Specialist. “Now, where’s our envoy? We’re in the right area, but no Reaper.”

Ellie looked around, a small frown spreading across her face. A moment later, acting on instinct, she whirled around, aiming her rifle right at-

“Not bad at all.” Said a masked woman, stepping out of the shadows. “You’re almost a Reaper.”

//

_ED: My parents were too busy doing their part in the camp to pay much attention to us, so I practically raised Kestra. My earliest memory is pulling her out of a lake she fell in. She was...three, I think? I was four. Almost drowned right there, but I saw her and pulled her to safety. Ma and Pa had some words about it with the camp leader, and they kept a closer eye on her. As we grew older, I hoped that she might be able to live a normal life, well, as normal as one got in those days. We were off the radar, didn't provoke ADVENT...but well, ADVENT didn't exactly need much reason to just go burn down any camp they saw. We...we woke up one morning...and...  
_

_< sound of chair shifting>_

_ED: ...and..._

_< heavy breathing>_

_ED: Excuse me._

//

**Summer 2030**

_She should have woken up to peace, to quiet, the sound of the birds._

_She woke up to the screams instead._

_Elena sat up in her bed as the sound of gunfire rang out across the camp, feet already running for Kestra’s bunk. She didn’t have to, the girl tore out of her little corner of the building like it was on fire and ran into Elena’s arms._

_“Where’s mommy? Where’s daddy?” The twelve-year old screamed, and Elena began carrying her towards the other Reapers, towards safety._

_“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re going to be okay.” Murmured the fifteen-year old, over and over, though whether it was for herself or for the younger girl was something she did not know._

**Spring 2035**

“Elena Dragunova, if there are to be introductions made.” Said the masked woman. “But in the field, call me Outrider.”

“I remember you.” Jane said. “You were the one at Volk’s side when he contacted Bradford four months ago.”

“Jane Kelly.” Elena intoned, giving her a nod. “It has been some time. Where is the Commander? I was told they would be here.”

“Retrieving the Skirmisher envoy.” Hayley said. “They’ll meet us at the old train station, south of here.”

“Then there’s no time to waste.” Elena said. “This meeting will be come complicated if-”

There was a howl, a distant, keening moan in the air.

“-they appear.”

//

_P: The Lost are  - were - terrible creatures, but tragic ones, they were borne of the toxins unleashed upon your world during its subjugation. It corrupted them into the monsters they became._

_A: ...like the Assassin?_

_P: ...somewhat. I do not know the specifics, but the toxins did their work unintentionally.  
_

_A: And Dad has said that what happened to the Assassin was deliberate._

//

“The hell are those?” Chrissy asked, staring at the strange, shambling figures not too far away from them. “Don’t look like any kind of alien we’ve seen.”

“They are The Lost.” Mox said, as he sighted up on one of the creatures and prepared to fire. “If we are to succeed, we must eliminate them quickly. Prolonged combat often draws their attention.”

“Well, in that case, let’s make this quick.” Taylor said, drawing her sniper rifle. “I’ll take the stragglers, you guys get the others.”

“On it.” Lynn said, targeting the largest concentration of Lost. “Commander?”

“I’ll get the ones to the left. You three take the right.” With that, The Commander swung over the side of the railing and drew their shield, breaking into a run towards the shambling things. The crack of Taylor’s sniper rifle rang out, followed by one of the Lost toppling over, just as their shield flew out and struck a second undead walker in the face. It toppled over, the glow in it’s eerie eyes vanishing, just in time for a burst of cannon fire to tear through a small cluster of the creatures. More sniper rifle shots rang out, followed by the accompanying death of Lost, and the Commander slammed a third Lost into a nearby car and kicked a fourth into a wall. Scattered rifle fire from Chrissy and Mox finished off the stragglers.

“Clear.” The Commander breathed, just as a single pistol shot rang out.

“You missed one.” Chrissy said, the rose-haired woman giving her leader a smile as a single shambler, now missing a very large portion of it’s dessicated head, fell over.

**Summer 2030**

_Magnetic rounds tore through the camp. Through its buildings, through its people._

_Elena and Kestra ran, searching for their parents, for their friends, for anyone who could help, but there was none. This particular camp had been caught off-guard, and it’s people were being slaughtered, those who could defend it already dead or too far away to help. There was no salvation, there was only death, and the laughter of mocking gods._

**Spring 2035**

“So those things are attracted to sound?” Hayley asked.

“Yes.” Elena said, as she led the team across the rooftops, charting out a path that would leave the shambling hordes in the streets below unaware of them. “All they know is that where there is sound, there is a victim.”

“The very dead come to life…” Ellie mused, as she swept her scope over the horde below, the urge to open fire dampened by the possibility that those things could climb.

“Not dead. Mutated.” Elena responded. “From the stories I have heard and what I gathered from my own observations, the aliens sent pods to entrap the populace of the cities they attacked for reasons unknown, but the chemicals used...changed them. Those that were not taken away to some terrible fate were turned into those...things. Doomed to walk the world until their bodies gave out...or they were given mercy.”

“I imagine they don’t tell the people in the city centers that.” Carly said.

“The mere existence of the Lost would send panic through the populace.” Jane said. “I assume ADVENT has teams trying to wipe them out?”

//

_P: Purifiers were explicitly made for the purpose of killing Lost. They were given sealed armor, flamethrowers, placed into large battalions and given orders to lay waste to everything._

_A: They sound terrifying._

_P: They were, if you fought them at close range. At length, they were nothing but nuisances._

//

“What is that?” Chrissy asked, watching as the Commander knelt next to a strange, pod-like device. It was broken, clearly, having hit the ground at an inadvisable velocity, but the skeletons around it and the strange glow that emanated from it told a story far more horrifying than she imagined.

“A Subduer.” The Commander said, staring at the broken machine. “The aliens sent them down during the first stages of the invasion. It was possible to deactivate them and free the people they webbed up, but, like so many others, it’s too late for them.”

“I would assume the chemical within is what changed the people into those...things.” Lynn said.

“An apt guess.” The Commander said. “As it is, the only way to find out would be to drag one of those things with us back to Tygan for study, and I’m not sure we can do that right now.”

Standing up, the team moved on, traversing the dead city in silence. “The closest route to the meeting point is this way.” Taylor said. “Past that...group of flamethrower wielding-ADVENT?”

Indeed, two blocks down were a horde of ADVENT, using flamethrowers on the creatures they had fought only a few minutes ago. “How the hell did they not hear us?” The blonde asked.

“Probably too busy torching those bastards.” The Commander said. “We’ve gotta get around them. Chrissy, Lynn, take up-”

“Allow me, Commander.” Mox said, drawing his rifle, sighting up on one of the ADVENT soldiers. “They are called Purifiers. They use flamethrowers...and the tanks on their backs are full of fuel.”

And with that, he fired.

//

_A: A subduer? Really?_

_C: I dunno what the fuck those things were called. Angelis didn't specify it while I was in the tank._

_CRJ: Language!_

_J: Net-Nette knew every word in the book by the time she was five._

_L: ...remind me to not be that irresponsible if I have kids._

_C: It's cultural enrichment!_

_H: Reel it in a bit, guys. I'm gonna lose my place._

//

**Summer 2030**

_Those things were walking into the camp, gunning down anyone who tried to fight or flee. It mattered not if one raised their hands in surrender, they died all the same. Hidden behind a fallen tree, Elena and Kestra watched in horror as the black armored soldiers murdered their friends. “We have to run.” Said the elder girl. “Come on, Kestra.” She began to slink away, only to see that the girl was petrified. “Kestra?”_

_And then she saw it._

_Their parents, lying dead in the midst of the chaos._

_“No…”_

//

_ED: <sobs> Not a day goes by that I don't see their faces._

_P: If I could change what happened, I would._

_ED: Is that supposed to make me feel better?_

//

The explosion shook Elena out of her recollections, and she whirled in the direction of the sound. A bright flash appeared, off in the distance, slowly fading away, and then, like one, groups of Lost began shambling in that direction.

“...Central, what was that?” Carly asked.

“According to Claptrap, our Skirmisher representative decided to take a shortcut.”

//

_CC: So Mox goes and blows up an entire fucking patrol..._

_CRJ: And it was glorious! Just like that concert in San Francisco!_

_CC: ...and brings down a horde of zombies on our heads._

_CRJ: That was less glorious._

//

“What the _fuck?"_

Getting up off the ground, The Commander helped Chrissy to her feet. “I think that _was_ the fuck.” The rose-haired woman said, gesturing at the bonfire that now raged in the streets. “So, uh...new plan?”

“Claptrap, give us an exit. Our old one’s no good anymore.” The Commander said.

“That’s affirmative, squadron leader!” Said the robot. “Okay, let’s see, there should be a route somewhere west, which runs parallel to that street, and if you go down that route and make a right, you could probably make it to the meeting-”

There were moans in the air.

“We have a bigger problem.” Taylor said, raising her sniper rifle. “Those _things_ noticed the fireworks show and are headed our way.”

“Okay, for the record, maybe we should’ve gone with the alternate route _before_ deciding to blow that patrol up, _knowing_ there’s a horde of noise-sensitive zombies in the city?” Lynn asked.

“We did not have time to decide.” Mox responded.

“Fuck it.” The Commander said. “Everyone to higher ground. Claptrap, give me an update when you figure out the shortest zombie-free route.”

“That’s affirmative, Commander! Try not to die down there, the New-U tech hasn’t been perfected yet!”

“Right…” Taylor said, as she climbed atop a crashed truck and took aim at the horde. “I’ll thin them out, you guys hold on until he figures something out.”

The Commander sighed, put their shield on their back and drew their pistol. “Tell him to keep count of how many of these bastards we shoot.”

The horde shambled into view.

“-Might as well have a bit of fun.”

//

_J: I got more kills than you did._

_CC: Pretty sure it was Taylor._

_T: I beat you both out by about twenty guys._

//

“We’re almost there.” Ellie said. “Just a few more blocks and we’ll be at the train station.”

“Good. “ Hayley said. “This place gives me the creeps, and I’d love nothing more than to get out of here and back to the Avenger.” Elena moved ahead of them, scouting out every crevice, every nook and cranny. Every time, she expected a shambler to burst out of the shadows and lunge, but nothing came, and the few threats they did find were dealt with easily. It seemed that the explosion had drawn off most of the Lost in the vicinity, and for that, Elena was thankful.

“You okay?” Jane asked, walking level with her, shotgun sweeping in every direction.

“No.” She said. “I don’t particularly enjoy the idea of being made to ally with those...people.”

“They want to help.” Carly said. “They’re not the same people they were under ADVENT. They sing a different song now.”

“I’m sure that comforts all the people they slaughtered under ADVENT’s direction.” Elena retorted.

She was met by silence.

//

_H: Elena was a bit of a bitch in those days._

_C: If there's ever walking proof that sex loosens people up, Elena's it._

_A: ...sayeth what?_

_J: Gingersnap..._

_T: <hysterical laughter>_

//

**Summer 2030**

_“Kestra...we need to go.” Elena said, tugging her and dragging her away from the gruesome sight. “Come on Kestra, let’s go.” Her sister moved like her legs were made of lead, the sight of her parents, dead on the ground, had all but made her freeze._

_And so, Elena half-dragged her sister away from the murderers of their camp, hoping the sounds of the burning buildings would cover up Kestra’s sobs and whimpers._

_“Mommy…” Whimpered the young girl. “Daddy…”_

_They were almost out of the camp when a structure nearby collapsed, and the sound caused Kestra to shriek._

_And a nearby ADVENT Officer to turn in their direction._

_“Shit…”_

//

_ED: I should've died there. Not her, me. Why...why I didn't die there..._

_P: I should've told my men to stand down. But..._

_ED: Orders. Yeah. You're not the first one to use that excuse, and you won't be the last._

_A: I think that maybe we need a little break._

//

“There’s a song I once heard, about the circle of life...” The Commander said, raising their pistol and firing a shot into the head of an oncoming Lost. “I don’t think this is what the songwriter had in mind.”

“Is this gonna be one of your long, philosophical tangents again?” Taylor asked, the sound of her rifle signalling the death of another Lost.

“Nah...” The Commander said, firing another three rounds into a charging shambler and knocking it backwards and to its doom.

“...Crowd’s too tough.”

“Please tell me Claptrap’s found a way out!” Chrissy shouted, hosing down a group of Lost.

“As a matter of fact, I have!” Shouted the robot over the comms. “Please turn to your left and run like hell down that street, please ignore the horde of zombies, I’m sure you can outrun them!”

“About time!” Lynn yelled, hosing down an entire group of the shamblers. “Fall back, now!”

“Mox, Chrissy, lead the way!” The Commander said. “Taylor, Lynn, cover them, I’ll cover your backs!”

“What are you planning, Commander?” Mox shouted, as purple energy began to gather in the Commander’s hands.

“This!” They shouted, firing a pulse of energy that hurled the Lost away from them, bowling over the sturdier ones and sending the others flying into walls, buildings, whatever surfaces they found.

Then, they ran.

//

_C: Claptrap does good work. Even if he's, you know, Claptrap._

_A: Unstable?_

_L: Wildly so._

_H: I still think we should've just shoved him through the psi gate during Leviathan and let him deal with Angelis._

_C: And let him get all the credit? Never._

//

“We’re here.” Jane said, sweeping her rifle across the train station. “Seems deserted. That’s good, right?”

“I think so.” Carly said. “I’ll take up an overwatch position. Keep an eye out for trouble.”

“Same.” Ellie said, turning to melt into the shadows. “Don’t mind me, just making sure we don’t have any unexpected visitors.”

“I’ll stick with you two.” Hayley said, casting a glance at Elena. “Is she okay?” She whispered to Jane.

“I don’t know.” Said the Ranger to the Grenadier.

//

_ED: It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all._

//

**Summer 2030**

_Magnetic rounds flew their way. Elena and Kestra ran, hoping that none of the sizzling metal bolts would hit them. The shots tore apart the ground around them, the trees and foliage rent apart in a spray of gunfire. Running blindly, Elena didn’t see the fallen tree branch, but she did feel it when she ran into it and fell, ankle twisting in the fall._

_“Elena!” Shouted Kestra, running back for her, desperate to save her sister-_

_A gun fired._

_A magnetic bolt flew out of the barrel of a pistol, held by the very officer who had spotted them-_

_-and came to find it’s resting place in Kestra’s heart._

//

_T: For the record, abandoned train stations are always bad news._

_CRJ: Along with auditoriums, gymnasiums, and your grandmothers house._

_C: For the record, my mom was a good mom. If a bit of a hardass._

//

“Almost there.” Taylor said, aiming her pistol down the street. “The others should be there.”

“Assuming nothing got them, they’re there.” The Commander said. “Claptrap radioed ahead to let me know that they made it.”

“Good to hear.” Said the blonde.

“So..why you?” Lynn asked, looking towards Mox. “Why’d they send you?”

“...A long time ago, I was ADVENT’s most prized butcher.” He said. “I led death squads into battle, wiping out every camp I found. I thought what I was doing was right, that was all I was allowed to feel.” He went quiet.

“And then my chip malfunctioned, and I saw the truth. The horror of what I did. I fled.” Mox didn’t dare to meet the eyes of the blonde grenadier, and so missed the haunted look on her face. “I found Betos, and she in turn gave me a purpose.” Mox checked his rifle. “I have spent the last three years attempting to atone for my crimes. I volunteered for this assignment so I could continue my quest.”

“You consider it to be a second chance?” Chrissy asked,raising an eyebrow. “Not a lot of people willing to hand those things out these days.”

“Yes. I know.” Mox said. “I doubt we will ever be accepted in this world. But we can try.”

//

_H: Thankfully, we didn't split up all too often during the war._

_CRJ: It kinda sucked when we had to. We were such a perfect chorus when were together._

_< Lynn chuckles>_

//

“There they are.” Hayley said, catching Carly’s attention. “All four of them, plus envoy.”

“Oh, finally!” She said, sounding rather chipper. “Good to know they made it. Now let’s just focus on covering the meeting zone, since we don’t have to worry if they got eaten by zombies.”

“Good to see you.” Ellie said over the comm as The Commander and their team approached. “You guys okay?”

“Mostly.” The Commander said. “Few scratches and burns, from the weird-ass Thriller knockoffs, but we’re good otherwise. Where’s the Reaper representative?”

“Right...here…” Elena said, stepping out of the shadows, having removed her mask, displaying a grim expression. “I suppose that it is time to meet the...you.” She said, eyes narrowing.

“You!” She shouted, and her rifle came upwards, pointed straight at Mox.

//

_ED: I tried to kill Mox. Many times._

_A: So I've heard.  
_

_ED: I spent the five years between Kestra's death and that day in San Diego hunting him. I wanted to make him suffer, as she had._

**Summer 2030  
**

_“Elena, it hurts.”_

_Apparently satisfied that they’d done their job when they saw them fall, ADVENT’s goons had left, leaving the two sisters alone. And so, Elena had begun to crawl, inch by painful inch, to her sister. Blood stained the shirt she’d been wearing, and tears marred her face. “Make it stop.” She whispered._

_“Kestra-, hold on, Kestra!” Elena gasped, pulling herself into a sitting position and trying to stop the bleeding, for whatever good it did, it wasn’t enough. Too much red stained her hands. She wasn’t a doctor, hell, not even a medic. It wasn’t working, nothing was._

_“Make it stop.” Her little sister begged. “Please, Elena..make it stop.”_

//

_T: And then shit got real. Like, really real._

_H: I know. Your dad did the big hero thing and jumped in the way. Personally, I would've stayed out of it._

_CC: Ah, Janey had it under control._

_J: Elena and I didn't get off to a good start. At all._

There was a chorus of shouts, of yells, as XCOM watched as Reaper and Skirmisher faced off.

“You killed my sister!” Elena shouted, forgetting about why she was there, about anything and everything except for the fact that the man who had shot her sister and ensured she’d died a painful death was right in front her.

“I am not that man anymore.” Mox said, remaining in a passive stance, to the surprise of all watching. “The person I was under ADVENT committed those atrocities, and I am ashamed that I ever did them.”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Elena shouted back. “You think that just because you give yourself a name instead of a number and think you’re an individual instead of a cog in a machine, that it just absolves you of the blood on your hands?!”

“No.” Mox said. “I can never wash away the blood on my hands. Only try to ensure no more of it is spilled.”

“Poetic words from a failed puppet about to die-” Elena ground out, when the Commander leapt in front of Mox, shield raised to protect him. “You’re siding with that _thing?_ ” She shouted.

“This alliance is our best chance at forcing the Elders off our world!” The Commander shouted back.

“We don’t need the help of his kind!” Elena shouted back. “Now get out of the way, or I swear to god, I will shoot right through-”

A blade came to rest against the side of Elena’s neck. “Stand down.” Jane said. “Or else.”

“You can’t be serious.” The Reaper said.

“I am.” Jane said. “Stand. Down.”

Groaning, Elena lowered her rifle. “Fine.”

“Okay, now that we’re all a bit more civil, let’s discuss the rough points of this meeting, before we take it to the Avenger.” The Commander said, clapping their hands together. “Point is, we all want the Elders off of our planet, and the easiest way to do that is by helping each other. So if we decide to be a bunch of overly political seniors and try killing each other over our theological differences, the Elders will simply keep control of the planet and then kill us all anyways.”

Sighing, Elena drew upon memory, thinking of what Volk had said to her before she’d departed. “Volk’s terms are too long for me to recount, but the simplest point is that he, and the rest of my kind, will only cooperate with the Skirmishers under the condition that XCOM oversees the relevant operations.” She said.

“Fair enough.” The Commander said. “Mox?”

“We have sought redemption for our sins for a long time now.” He said. “We will fight alongside the Reapers...and though I cannot speak for Betos, I find those terms acceptable.”

“Goody.” Said The Commander. “With that solved, let’s get out of here and go talk this out somewhere nicer. Melissa, you mind-”

Mox raised his rifle and fired.

//

_A: And that was when-_

_C: Your namesake attacked, yeah._

_A: What was she like?_

_C: As herself? Kind..sweet...always thoughtful. Liked to speak in French when she was being a bit cocky. Or flirty. I couldn't tell which._

_J: We saw glimpses of what lay beneath the Assassin during the war. I wish we could've seen more._

//

She had watched the meeting with interest, listened to the dissidents as they screamed and shouted at each other, and, to her disappointment, as they came to an accords. It was time to put an end to such a thing, and, with a bit of maneuvering, she slipped behind the hooded figure and drew her blade. A simple impalement would do the job, and with XCOM unable to explain it, the Resistance would no doubt fall into chaos-

And then, the deserter, the _traitor_ , seemed to look into her eyes.

And his rifle came up and fired.

She dodged, naturally, bullets seared the air where she had been, and she landed on an abandoned train car, above the dissidents.

“You will not do that again, _traitor_.” Hissed the Chosen Assassin, and then she leapt onto the ground and lunged.

“Aw, fuck-” The Commander began.

The Assassin leapt directly at Elena, who brought her rifle to bear and opened fire. The bullets glanced harmlessly off the sword of the Chosen, and she swung at her. Outrider deftly leapt out of the way, firing another shot at her, which was again deflected.

“Protect the envoys!” The Commander shouted, and Menace leapt into action. Jane swung her sword at the Assassin, who parried the blow with one of her own. She kicked the Ranger’s feet out from under her and ducked underneath a spray of rifle fire from Chrissy, drawing her Arashi and firing a blast that had her diving for cover. Hayley opened fire, the volley of bullets sending the Assassin diving over the train tracks and onto the ground below. Sniper shots began pinging nearby, and a pair of shots hit the Assassin in her chest, sending her back a step.

“A fine trick, XCOM.” She growled, diving out of sight, avoiding the next shot that Ellie fired. Taylor swung around a corner, pistol in hand and firing. Ducking beneath the shots, The Assassin relieved her of it and kicked her away, in time for a pair of grenades, courtesy of Lynn, to land at her feet and explode. The Assassin went sprawling, coming to a rest against a car.

She rolled out of the way of a third incoming grenade, the explosion destroying her makeshift brake, and fired another shotgun blast, which caused Lynn to dive out of the way, depriving her of a chance to gain an edge against the Assassin.

A grappling hook slammed into the shoulder armor of the Assassin, and pulled her towards the traitor, who reared back for a punch. Not wanting to let him take advantage of the opportunity, The Assassin shoulder-checked him, slamming into Mox with the force of a train and knocking him to the ground.

Raising her sword to execute him, the Commander’s shield slammed into The Assassin, knocking her back and sending her sprawling. Returning to the hand of its owner, The Commander charged the Assassin and swung, clubbing her in the face with the shield. Her Arashi was knocked out of her hand, so she drew upon her Katana and began swinging, matching the Commander blow for blow.

Carly appeared out of nowhere and slammed into the Assassin, swinging her rifle like a bat. Avoiding the strikes, one of them got lucky and knocked the Assassin’s sword out of her hands. Groaning, she flipped backwards and onto a nearby platform.

“You have done well, XCOM.” She said, locking eyes with The Commander, whose hand was on their pistol, clearly ready to draw and open fire. “But I am not here to fight you...today.” A moment later, a burst of psionics had her weapons fly into her hands. “Have your alliance...if you can outrun the horde.”

And with that, she vanished, just as a loud rumbling noise punctuated the air.

“What the hell was that?” Jane asked.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t good.” Chrissy said, snapping another magazine into her rifle.

And then, they heard it. Groans, lots and lots of groans.

“...Shit.” Taylor said. “That sounds like-”

A shambling mass appeared off in the distance, getting ever closer.

“Fuck.” Ellie said, raising her sniper rifle and opening fire. The others joined in immediately.

“Melissa, lock onto our signal and be ready to extract us!” The Commander shouted, turning towards the others, they pointed in a direction that was currently free of zombies. “Forget trying to hold them off, everyone fucking run!” The Commander shouted.

As a one, the entire group began running, reloading as they went.

“Hey, Commandy One! Claptrap here, just wanted you to know that Tygan’s bioscans indicate that basically every single one of those things is coming right atcha!” Went the voice of an overly annoying robot. “Just in case you’re wondering how many of them are out there.”

“Thank you for the status update!” The Commander shouted, looking back, deciding that looking back was overrated, and then beginning to run just a bit faster.

“I feel like we’re in a Walking Dead episode!” Chrissy shouted, matching pace with her leader as more Lost began shambling out of nearby stores and passageways. There was no time to stop and fight, so the team simply ran right past them, hoping their speed would allow them to evade the shamblers “Where’s Melissa?”

“About two block down! Keep going straight!” Ellie shouted, whirling around and firing the last round in her sniper rifle into the horde. Following her example, Lynn and Hayley grabbed their launchers and began firing grenades, every single one they had, into the horde in hopes that something, _anything_ might slow down the incoming wall of glowing-eyed doom.

“There is the small problem of that!” Carly shouted, pointing a finger at the zombies that were now in _front_ of them in addition to behind them.

“I’ve got this!” The Commander shouted, thrusting forward a hand and bowling them over with psionic energy. A moment later, the roar of engines signalled Melissa’s arrival, and the Skyranger appeared, hovering above a truck.

“Can’t get any lower, not without being swarmed!” Shouted the redhead, just as Lily appeared in the back of the vessel and began firing her rifle at the closest concentrations of Lost. “If you could kindly board before they-”

“Way ahead of you!” Chrissy shouted, leaping aboard the Skyranger, Gremlin in hand, followed shortly by Lynn and Hayley, who drew their miniguns and laid down cover fire. “Bastards won’t fucking go away!”

“So I noticed!” Carly yelled, the last of her bullets slamming into an overly grabby shambler. Her Gremlin discharged its last electrical burst and zipped into the Skyranger, followed shortly by its owner. Ellie and Taylor were next to follow, and they dove out of the way as the Commander ran full tilt for the vessel and threw themselves in, crashing and sliding into the back of the pilot’s seat.

“Welcome aboard.” Said the redhead, just as Jane leapt in, tossing a grenade backwards and into the horde.

“Come on you two!” She shouted, firing her shotgun as Mox and Elena bolted for the vessel. Midway there, Elena stumbled and fell, crashing onto the ground hard, just before a trio of Lost fell upon her. “Aw, fuck-” Went the Ranger, just as Mox barrelled into the attackers, knocking them away.

He scooped up Elena and continued running.

He’d just barely climbed up onto the truck when a pair of particularly grabby Lost latched onto his legs. “Take her!” He shouted, shoving the dazed and bloodied Reaper into the arms of Taylor and Chrissy, who pulled her into safety. Swinging his fists, he crushed the Lost beneath his hands and turned his attention back to the Skyranger, just a few feet away.

Kicking himself free of the shamblers, Mox leapt-

-and was pulled away by a grappling hook.

“No!” Chrissy shouted, grasping blindly at her rifle and firing a shot, which went wide-

-and Mox landed in the arms of the Assassin, who drew her sword and held it to his throat.

“Let’s go home, _traitor."_ She said, and vanished.

//

**Summer 2030**

_“Kestra?”_

_Elena’s sister looked up at the sky, though no movement came. The smoke rising in the air reflected in her eyes. Blood stained the elder girl’s hands, and, at long last, she drew them away and simply sat there, numb._

_She’d failed._

_Everyone was dead._

_Her friends, her family, her sister._

_She was alone._

_Elena Dragunova, fifteen years of age, bowed her head and wept._

**Spring 2035**

He was dumped into a cell.

It was pristine, as most of ADVENT’s facilities were. The guards outside looked at him with blank eyes, as was the product of their control chips. Still smarting from his wounds, Mox looked at the door as it closed behind him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Lying back on the floor, he sighed.

Hopefully, the others were safe.

He shut his eyes.

He’d done his part, there was nothing left to do but wait.

And so, Pratal Mox waited. For death or for salvation, he could not say which.

//

_**Avenger Security Log V.4.23.35 Accessed...** _

“Betos. It is a _pleasure_ to meet you in person.” Volk said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Konstantine Volk.” Said the leader of the Skirmishers. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Remain civil. Remain civil.” Bradford muttered under his breath, as the two leaders began to exchange barbed words at the holotable. He had security on standby in the form of Axton and Salvador, just in case things got out of hand, but he would’ve preferred not to use them.

Geist, for his part, looked rather content to just sit there and watch. “I would love to psychoanalyze your boyfriend.” He said offhandedly, and Bradford found himself groaning.

“Please don’t.” He said.

“No promises.” Responded the Templar, taking a swig of...whatever the hell it was he’d brought with him.

“Is the Commander here yet?” Bradford quietly asked Tygan.

“Firebrand just touched down, sir.” The head of research said, just as Volk slammed a fist down on the table, his voice getting noticeably louder. Betos, for her part, remained serene as ever, but stiffened slightly, and Geist, previously slacking, feet on the table, slid said appendages off the table and prepared to come to the defense of the Skirmisher.

“Reapers have long memories.” Said Volk. “And if you think we’re going to forgive and forget the actions of you jackasses-”

“One of those jackasses sacrificed himself for your envoy.” The Commander said, striding into the room, uniform marred with scratches and soot. “He had a name. Pratal Mox, and he saved your envoy from being eaten by the Lost, zombie like creatures in the city that _you_ chose.”

Volk went silent, and Betos piped up.

“Pratal is dead?” She asked, concern lacing her voice.

“I don’t know.” The Commander said. “Operative Costanza said he was grabbed by a purple sword-swinging lunatic while ferrying Outrider to safety, so it could go either way.”  

“The Butcher of Free ADVENT.” Betos said immediately, voice tightening. “The _Chosen_.” She fixed the Commander with a serious look. “The False Gods call her The Assassin. She has hunted us for many years. If she has taken Pratal, then we must get him back.”

Volk’s face had shifted to one of dark concern. “My people are hunted by a second Chosen.” He said, after a moment, drawing the attention of the people in the room towards him. “Wears a hood, uses a sniper rifle, calls himself The Hunter.” He looked towards Betos. “It seems we have something in common.

Geist raised a hand. “I have heard rumors of a third Chosen hunting me, one with powers akin to mine or the Commander’s. All I have is a name, Warlock, but that does not herald good things for my people if the rumors of his psionic mastery are true.”

“So, we all face a common threat.” The Commander surmised. “I know that at least a couple of us in here don’t like each other, but in light of this information-”

“I agree to a truce.” Volk said. “I don’t like it, not one bit...but with this kind of a threat in mind, I cannot, in good conscience, let my people die because I did not accept this alliance.”

“We will aid you.” Betos said. “We have only been able to defend against the Assassin’s attacks thus far. Perhaps with help, we can take the fight to her.”

“I’m in.” Geist said. “As I have always been.”

The Commander gave a weak smile. “I’ll make the news official with The Informant.” They said. “Outrider’s up in medical, might wanna drop in on her.” Giving a nod to the trio, the Commander exited the room.

//

_ED: I still don't understand why you saved me._

_P: I think it was my first attempt at redeeming myself._

_ED: Not a bad start._

//

Slowly, Elena came back to consciousness.

She groaned and attempted to sit up. “Please don’t.” Said a voice nearby. “I’d rather not replace those bandages.” The voice was firm, if a bit motherly, and she laid back on the mattress. “You took quite a fall, not to mention the swings the reanimated got in.” The voice said, and a grey-haired woman with _Karin Chakwas_ emblazoned on her white coat appeared in her field of view. “You fractured several bones during your ill-fated fall, in addition to the actual breaks that occurred when the reanimated attacked you.” She said. “So you-” A finger pointed at her. “Are on bedrest until they heal.”

She weakly nodded and leaned back on her pillow.

“You okay?” Came a gentle voice, and Elena turned her head towards Volk, who was looking down at her with concern in his eyes. “I heard you had it pretty rough down there.”

“That’s an understatement.” Elena said. “I thought it was over, when they swarmed me. But-” She paused for breath, and to gather the words she wanted to say. “But Mox saved me.” She said. “I don’t understand. He killed Kestra, and then he saves me...it makes no sense.”

“None of this shit makes sense.” Volk said. “I came aboard this ship thinking I was gonna have to shoot someone and now we’re working with the Skirmishers-”

“We’re what?” Elena asked, looking up at him.

“We’re...working...with...Betos.” Volk said, sounding rather annoyed he’d had to say the words at all. “Yeah, I know, you don’t want to do, and frankly, neither do I, but I just learned that there are _more_ of those purple-skinned bastards running around, and if they turn their attention towards us, we’re fucked. So I allied with her. And the freaky Templar guy.”

“I...okay.” Elena said. “Whatever helps us win.” She said. “And, as much as I hate to admit it, we owe them a chance. Because of Mox.”

“Because of Mox…” Drawled Volk. “Think I’m gonna make that into a mantra.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Get some rest, Elena. I’ll check in on you later.” With that, Volk turned and left.

Elena sighed and closed her eyes.

//

“Glad to see you’re all back, guys!” Claptrap said.

“Good to see you too.” Lynn said, walking past the robot and towards the Infirmary. “If you’ll excuse us...”

“No problem! Always ready to serve!” He said.

“I wanna shower. And sleep. And Jupiter.” Carly moaned, holding onto Chrissy as they limped towards the Avenger’s medbay. “God, everything hurts.”

“Tell me about it.” Taylor said, helping Ellie into the room, where doctors immediately ran to aid them.

“In retrospect, we should’ve held the meeting here in the first place.” Hayley said, sitting down on one of the beds and submitting to an scan from one of the doctors. “Just a thought.”

“You’re totally right.” The Commander said, helping Jane into the room. “My bad, sorry guys.”

“I’ll forgive you on one condition.” Jane said.

“Which is?” Said XCOM’s leader.

“Have breakfast with me.” The Irishwoman said.

“That doesn't really sound too difficult.” The Commander mused.

“No no, it’s ‘cause I’m working on my cooking skills, and I need a test audience.” Jane said, a sly smile appearing on her face.

The Commander laughed. “Oh, Rabbit, everyone knows you can’t cook!”

“Well, that’s what the testing’s for!”

Somewhere behind the bantering duo, Carly caught Lynn’s attention with a wave of her hand.

 _She likes ‘em._ The medic mouthed, gesturing at Jane.

 _I know._ The grenadier mouthed back.

//

_T: How the fuck you two didn't notice the blatant attempts at flirting with each other, I'll never understand._

_C: I thought it was friendly banter._

_J: **I** just wanted someone to test out the couscous recipe I'd grabbed on the shopping trip right before the op._

_C: In retrospect, a terrible mistake._

//

“Well, _that_ was a terrible day.” Bradford said, sitting down at the bar.

“Tell me all about it, Central.” Moxxi said, sliding him a bottle of the cheapest wine she could gather. “And don’t spare the details.”

“Sure, but why’s this the cheap stuff?”

“Because I know you’re not gonna really savor the good stuff. You’ve got _the look_ , Uniform Man.” Bradford, in response, gave the scantily-clad woman a look usually reserved for overly cryptic men named Gandalf.

_“What look?”_

“Oh, you know, the look of _‘I just got fucked, and not in a good way’_.” Said the bartender.

“Ah…” Bradford said. “Well, in that case, you see, it all started when Volk…”

“...And bored now.” Moxxi said.

//

_A: Aunt Moxxi didn't really do that, did she?_

_CC: She did._

_A: Wow, Uncle Bradford really did get no respect during his time at XCOM._

_L: You run naked through the ship while singing the baby shark song, and see how many people respect you after that._

//

**_File Splicing Complete..._ **

**_...uploading to archive..._ **

**_archive complete._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the introduction of Volk, Elena, Pratal, Betos and Geist! With guest stars Moxxi, Chakwas and Claptrap of the Borderlands/Mass Effect series! And Kestra shows up via flashback. Spot the reference if you can.
> 
> And Menace gets to actually show off why they're the very best XCOM has to offer. (At least until a certain Chosen shows up.) Also, The Commander switches over to third-person descriptives since writing fight scenes with them in second-person is a bit wonky. Technically, in the timeline, this happens somewhere in the middle part of We Kept Running, Running Through The Night, given that the breakfast quote Jane made is meant to lead up to that particular passage in that chapter. (Which means this technically is set anywhere between two-to-four months into the XCOM 2 campaign, depending on when Elena did the recon op to grab The Commander.) Hence the hints of flirting at the end. They're not at that point where they're a couple, but they're getting there. 
> 
> And now that I think about it, Annette's probably like SAY WHAT THERE WERE ZOMBIES REALLY GUYS and her parents are probably like "yeah, zombies. nothing too fancy". I dunno. 
> 
> Previously known as And Keep My Conscience Clean When I Wake, which has had it's story elements split up and updated to account for current ongoing revisions to the Anthology-verse. 
> 
> So...onto the topic of the characters. Kestra was brought in to give Elena a very personal reason to have an issue with the Skirmishers, Mox in particular, given that he's the one who bumped her off. Elena is also eighteen in this story, her flashbacks happened about three or so years prior. So I guess she's a bit more youthful than she is in game, where she's probably a lot older than that.
> 
> And the Assassin shows up for various reasons, mainly to do what she did in game, even though circumstances shifted greatly here rather than there, but I'm here to write what I want to write, not do a retelling of the game to the exact minute accounting.
> 
> Mox and Elena will get more one-on-one time in the future. Considering how intertwined their stories are, they definitely need it.
> 
> Also, experimenting with a new format, bringing it a bit closer to each other. Still keeping the Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy/Terry Pratchett writing style, though.


	5. Better Than A Farmer's Market Any Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Black Market!

_**Audio-Visual Recording Initiated (??? 2054)** _

_**Participants: Xenon The Antiquarian (X), Annette Zhang Kelly (A)** _

_**Error...Error...Error...** _

_**Date/Time Invalid...Attempting To Correct...** _

_X: Oh, time doesn't work here properly.  
_

_A: You could've told me that earlier._

_X: Ah, you're a smart girl, you would've figured it out on your own. Now, let me tell you about the things your parents bought._

_A: Anything juicy?_

_X: No, not particularly. Your mother has quite the sweet tooth, so fruits and vegetables weren't really her style. And your father...let's just say they hate fruits with a passion._

_A: Oh._

_X: Now, back in those days, you needed to be a member of the Resistance to get into the shop. If you didn't..._

//

"When you said the Black Market went underground, I didn't expect it to have _literally_ gone underground." Jane says. You give a shrug, take her hand and lead her into the underground...cellar-thing. At least, you think it's a cellar. More like one of those old smuggling tunnels you'd read about in the news, back when the United States still existed and the world didn't suck as much as it does now.

"The Assassin does her job well. Which isn't a surprise, considering who she is." You respond, following the rickety old steps and walking along the strange-stone bridge of sorts. "And it's not like the Elders have a concept of noncombatants." Jane nods, holding up a flashlight to illuminate the way. For some reason, the path to the Black Market is lit with torches, honest-to-god _torches_ , like the kind you'd seen before in the movies.

"Well, all we have to do is talk to the guy, set up some kind of working arrangement, and we'll be good to go...provided no one hunts the market down again." Jane says, just as you step out into a large chamber, filled to the brim with boxes both old and new, and more assorted, random things than you can possibly imagine.

"Oh. It's _you._ " Booms a deep voice, one that has Jane reaching for the sidearm at her hip. You raise a hand to signal her to stand down, and you turn in the direction the voice came from.

"Xenon. It's been a while." You say, just in time for Jane's flashlight to illuminate the skeletal figure seated on a chair.

"Commander..." Xenon the Antiquarian, collector of things lost and ancient, barterer of tools both new and old, drawls, sounding about as happy to see you as a three-hundred-year-old ancient being could be. "It has been some time."

"What happened to the last guy running the market?" You asked, looking around.

"Oh, him? He got eaten by a Chryssalid. It was a very messy affair. You will not believe how much paperwork had to be filed in order for me to take charge of his wares. You'd think running an underground market in the dark corners of the planet would be less corporate, but no..." Xenon trailed off, and you took his silence as a cue to begin exploring the storeroom's contents.

"You know each other?" Jane asked, as she began looking at the contents of a strange jar on a shelf.

"Of course we do, Janeth." Xenon said, causing the ranger to twitch at the usage of her _full_ first name. "That bastard you've gotten involved with thought it was funny to sell me fifty Sectoid corpses because they wanted to open up another Thermo Generator."

"You're never gonna let that go, are you?" You asked, pulling a stack of old books out of a box, opening one of them and perusing through it. "I made up for it by giving you the broken shit we pulled out of the UFO's we knocked out of the sky!"

"Some things you just don't let go of!" Xenon said. "Oh, and I still have them. The stench is horrible, I tell you. Thankfully, my predecessor had the good sense to put them in one of those hazardous waste containers, but I doubt even the Reapers would want them for their culinary endeavors." There was a moment of silence. "Or perhaps they would. Who knows with _that_ group of degenerates, considering what they do with Muton sp-"

"Okay!" You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air. "I get it, you're still mad at me for that. Never change, Xenon. Never change."

"I cannot change. I am cursed to remain this way until such a time as I either regain my youth or crumble into dust. Speaking of remaining the same, how exactly have _you_ managed to look just like you did back then, despite the passage of nearly twenty years?" Xenon asked.

"Well, after they blew up the old HQ, kidnapped me and killed basically everyone in the base, The Elders shoved me into a tubular-green-spa and kept me in there for twenty years as some kind of supercomputer to fight their war for them. You know, like Skynet, except more organic." You said.

"Ah...the Elders." Xenon said, in the tone of voice used by one who _knows_. "Strange fellows. All high and mighty and boastful, but they lose that regal veneer when you offer them a senior's discount." A moment passed, the mental image of an Elder throwing a tantrum causing Jane to snicker. "They've sometimes sent teams after me, probably to plunder my wares or kill me in retaliation for insulting their precious haughty stickmen. Never works out, I tell you. Thaddeus does his job well, that's for sure."

"I'll bet." Jane said, eying up a shotgun mod on a nearby shelf.

"He is quite effective! No one's gotten past him in ages! Well, there was this one fellow who did, called himself Asaru, I think? Nice guy, him. Wish he'd visit more often." There was what sounded like a sigh from the skeletal figure. "Though I must admit, the bloodstains take _forever_ to clean up, I tell you. Ah, the downsides of wooden floors." Xenon lamented. "Fortunately, it's dark in here, so no one usually notices."

"...Dude, you need to hire a janitor." You said, staring at a peculiarly shaped statue. At least, you thought it was a statue. It was probably, in all honesty, a petrified Sectoid.

"I did! He only works on days that don't end in Y. Charming fellow. Forget his name though. Burt...something. Macklin, if I remember correctly."

//

_A: Isn't Asaru?_

_X: Your father's mysterious guardian, among other things? Yes. Asaru has a long history with XCOM, I assume you've heard the story?_

_A: Not exactly. Dad knows that Asaru saved them during Gatecrasher and Leviathan, but not much else._

_X: A long time ago, Asaru worked with your grandmother, Angela Weaver. You see, he'd been playing host with some chap called William Carter, but then he went off the rails and so Asaru needed another host, and so he chose your grandmother. Then at some point, they parted ways, and he did some stuff, then the aliens came and took over Earth and captured your dad, and rather than let Angelis do whatever she wanted to them, Asaru took charge and did just enough to keep her happy, while keeping your father's humanity intact. Then when your father was broken out of the tank during Gatecrasher, he used his powers to keep them from dying from the shock of being disconnected from the network.  
_

//

"Greetings, Jonathan."

Bradford blinked, focused on the strange figure in the chair, and decided now would be a very good time for a drink. He reached for his hip flask, popped the lid, and took a swig.

"Most people say hello before they break out the alcohol. Then again, most people don't usually come here." Xenon said.

"Yeah. Why me?" Bradford asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Where else are you going to find the _exact same_ fabric used in a cotton green sweater that is as old as the spiderwebs you are about to run into?" Xenon asked, and on instinct, Bradford ducked around the eponymous weavings, shaking his head exasperatedly.

"Look, I just want to buy the things I need to fix said sweater and get out of here." Bradford said. "No offense, but you kinda creep me out, even more so than you did twenty years back."

"As I recall, the Commander is the one who liaised with me in those days." Xenon said. "You were too busy attempting to pretend you were some kind of uptight professional military-man to talk to the likes of me." The skeletal figure almost sounded _hurt_.

"The facade fools no one, mind you. Probably because your boyfriend likes to wax poetic about your days as a stripper to anyone who will listen. You will not _believe_ how many times he's recounted tales of your 'private dances' while shopping here. I'd object, but he seems so happy to talk about you I just can't bear to tell him to stop."

In the pause between speeches, Bradford pondered if it was possible to kill a semi-immortal skeleton by disassembling it as rapidly as possible with the nearest heavy bludgeoning object. "Oh, and I must admit, running this black market is far more entertaining than the Grey Market. I get far more visitors now."

"Visitors?" Bradford asked. "What kind of visitors?"

"Oh, I get the lunatics from the flying asylum you run, sometimes I get the aliens attempting to redeem themselves, I once got a visit from a half-naked former psychiatrist of yours who was demanding the biggest condoms I had, and in his words "a shit ton of lube", and sometimes I get visited by Alien Strike teams!" Xenon sounded a little gleeful at that last part. "The Hunter even found this place once!"

Bradford stiffened up, a hand going to the gun at his back.

"I fed him to the tentacle monster that lives in the lagoon on the far side of the cavern. He hasn't been back since. How he got past Thaddeus is anyone's guess. No one's done that since Asaru. Should've knocked, I tell you. Kids these days have no manners."

Bradford relaxed.

"Oh, did I mention that more than one of your operatives onboard the ship uses the tentacle monster's "special services" to relax every now and then? I thought you should know, in case you want to try it out for yourself."

Bradford groaned. "Um...no thank you."

"Right...I forgot, you're committed to that sweater of yours, and that rich boy turned mountain man who leads that group that paid an exorbitant price for the First Alien War-era Sectoid corpses. Apparently those things age like wine. Who knew? I've heard they're quite tasty after twenty years worth of...fermenting."

"Can I get the stuff I ordered now?" Bradford asked, glad the Commander wasn't here to laugh at his misfortune.

"Of course!" Xenon said. "Thaddeus! Please bring the drunk man his goods." As if on cue, a large, stony creature materialized out of nowhere, holding out a bag full of sewing supplies and fabrics. The baffled Central Officer reached out and took the bag, doing his best to ignore the fact that he'd just accepted goods from what was, for all intents and purposes, a golem.

"How much do I owe you?" Bradford asked.

"Oh, no charge. You're an old friend from the good old days!" Xenon said. "Besides, if I have to listen to one more recording of you 'crying like a bitch' over the sweater, I might just ask Thaddeus to crush me with his foot!"

"...there are recordings?" Bradford said, eyes widening in alarm.

"Of course! I keep telling Little Miss Shen it was a mistake to have _Claptrap_ man the Avenger's security systems, but she claims he's the best man for the job on the basis that he's the _only_ one willing to sit there and log data all day! He sells copies of the more interesting videos to me in exchange for some items that will remain unnamed. I dare not ask what a CL4P-TR4P Unit needs with those kinds of materials."

Bradford bravely suppressed a sob. For the ten seconds it took him to leave, anyways.

//

_X: John is such a fun customer! How is he?_

_A: Seventy years old and still his usual self._

_X: Good to know some people can grow old, but never up!_

_A: Just like-_

_X: -your dad, yes._

//

**_3: Lily Shen & Melissa Gaskarth - Engineers, Pilots and Sex Toys_ **

//

"Lily, Melissa! Good to see you!"

"Hi, Xenon!" The eponymous duo chorused, giving Xenon a cheerful greeting. "How have you been?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Just sitting in the chair, managing the shop and occasionally feeding the errant Chosen or two to the nearest bog monster." Xenon said. "Is today a social visit or a business visit?"

"Mixture of both, really." Melissa said. "Lil wants to get some components for some proving ground projects and I'm here to look around for anything interesting."

"Oh, I can certainly help with those!" Xenon responded. "Little Miss Shen, please check out aisle nine for the materials you'd like, and Little Miss Gaskarth, please visit aisle five for 'relationship spice'. And if you both need some stress relief, the Bog Monster on the far side of the cavern."

Lily wandered into the relevant aisle, looking around at the things within. "Where do you get all this stuff?" She asked, reaching out and grabbing everything she could get her hands on. Boxes of elerium cores, alien alloys, a number of alien weapons, they all went into the cart she'd grabbed on her way down to the section of Xenon's wares.

"Well, sometimes, the local resistance groups actually manage to kill aliens and take their stuff, _without_ having to ask your Commander to send in that team of ex-singers turned alien hunters. Other times, defecting ADVENT barter their gear with me in exchange for a pathway to the Skirmishers, and sometimes Thaddeus takes things from a kill team that has the misfortune of actually finding me."

"...Ah. So that's why this particular rifle had blood-stains on it." Lily mused.

"Yes, I would wash that if I were you. Thaddeus used it to beat a Berserker to death. Long story, that one." Xenon replied. "If it makes you feel any better, this place has excellent ventilation, so you shouldn't smell the dead bodies in the next aisle over! I'm keeping those on layaway. Reapers pay good money for Berserker Steaks and Chryssalid Stew. Though for some reason, they hate Viper milk. Why, I don't know. I've heard the stuff is delicious and nutritious."

"...I don't even wanna know how you know that." Lily said.

"You're right, you don't! Let's just say the Fanatic Xenophile faction is alive and well, folks!" Xenon replied.

Melissa stared at the box. And, after a moment spent observing the item inside, snatched it off the shelf, tossing it into the basket she'd borrowed. The next few items she saw followed the same path as the original item. "Where do you get these toys?" She asked.

"Pornhub has somehow managed to thrive in a post-apocalyptic world, which is either a testament to humanity's ability to survive or a serious case of skewed priorities. I'm not sure which one." Xenon said. "Don't worry, they're mint condition! I'm sure you and Lily will have a _lot_ of fun with them. If not, I'll refund the price! But please don't return them. I have standards. Very few, but they're there. Oh, and do read the instructions first! Some of those were made with alien tech and probably do more than give you some happy feelings."

"Ooh, that looks fun." Lily said, popping her head over Melissa's shoulder and gesturing at the box in her hands, no easy feat considering Melissa was five-eleven and at least four inches taller than Lily. "I'm looking forward to trying those things out."

"Later." Melissa said, giving her a mischievous smirk.

"Ah, young love." Xenon said. "It almost makes me want to give you a half-off discount."

"Really?" Lily asked.

" _Almost._ I have to make a profit _somehow_."

...

**_4: Richard Tygan & The Informant - IT'S FOR SCIENCE, BITCHES!_ **

//

In the dark of the night, a figure stole into Xenon the Antiquarian's Emporium.

"Greetings, Richard." Xenon said, knowing exactly who it was. The person in question had been expected.

"I assume you have the goods?" Tygan asked, lowering his hood and looking around to make sure they were alone.

"Of course." Xenon said. "I do not renege on my deals...particularly with someone like you. After all, you provide me the most _fascinating_ specimens to look at. I must say though, are you sure the Commander isn't going to notice all those missing Codex Brains?"

"The Commander is too busy dealing with the coordinates given up by the original one." Tygan said, stepping up to the boxes that had been gently deposited on the ground by the large golem in the corner. Well, as gently as something of that size could manage, anyways. Opening the box with a quiet hiss of air, Tygan gazed upon his life's desire.

ADVENT Burgers. Many of them, each one carefully wrapped up, sealed and frozen for consumption at his discretion. It was a sight that made the scientist smile. Closing the lid, he began to load the boxes into the cart he'd brought along with him for the occasion. "Thank you." He said to Xenon. "I appreciate our deal being concluded in such an amicable fashion."

"Yes, of course." Xenon said. "Now, if I were you-"

"Hello, Xenon." A gravelly voice said, and a man in a suit emerged from the shadows, face concealed within the poor lighting of the cavern. "Doctor Tygan. I am surprised to see you here."

Tygan blinked. "...Informant?" He asked, carefully shifting his body to conceal the boxes he was standing in front of.

"I am." The man said, turning his attention to Xenon. "Do you have it?"

"Of course I have it!" Xenon said, sounding almost offended by the question. "I am Xenon the Antiquarian. I have _everything_ , and to insinuate otherwise would be an insult punishable by Thaddeus, were it not for the fact that I am a magnanimous ruler...and because you are some of my only regular customers. Besides the weirdos onboard the flying asylum who use the tentacle monster in the back for 'relaxation', of course."

"Too much information." Tygan said, making a note to start handing off medical shifts to other personnel in the future.

"But yes, I do have your goods." Xenon finished. "A boxed set of all the Fifty Shades of Grey movies and books, for you." He said, and the golem at his side offered the eponymous collection to the bald man. "Enjoy."

The Informant took the box, clutching it to his chest like a child would a stuffed toy. "Please don't tell anyone about this." He said, turning to Tygan.

"I won't if you don't let the Commander know about...this." Tygan said, gesturing at the boxes he was hurriedly gathering up.

"Deal." The Informant said.

"Please get out of my shop. It's closing time." Xenon said. "Oh, and do try to not step on the land-mines I placed under the welcome mat. There's a solicitor going door to door in the area, and I'd like to show him what I think of his stupid hat."

...

**_5: Task Force 141 & Alpha Squad: Joint Operations, In More Ways Than One_ **

//

"Oi, bug! What's that in your hands?"

Jumping into the air at the words of Simon "Ghost" Riley, Gary "Roach" Sanderson shoved the DVD cases into his basket and hid said basket behind his back. "Nothing!" The junior member of the 141 squeaked, giving Ghost an innocuous smile.

Well, perhaps said smile was more...constipated. Either way, it didn't fool the masked man, who, up until now, had his hands on his hips. Now, said hands were moving towards the basket behind Roach. "Gimme." He said.

"No!" Roach shouted, sidestepping Ghost and making a break for it. Ghost tackled him to the ground and the basket went skidding out of their reach. Immediately, both men began wrestling for it.

"Give it here!" Ghost shouted, managing to trample over Roach and lunge for the basket, only to be pulled back by Roach, who'd latched onto his legs with all the grace of a toddler hanging onto it's mom's legs.

"No! You don't wanna see what's in there!" Roach shouted, futilely attempting to pull Ghost back in his direction. The masked man managed to grasp onto the edge of the basket and pull it towards him, only for Roach to squeeze his stomach, catching Ghost off guard and sending it skidding away.

To the surprise of all involved, Josh "Stoner" Bailey actually liked shopping trips to the Black Market. He got to get off the ship, see the sights, and he wasn't being shot by aliens. Or stabbed. Or chewed on. Or any other number of horrifying ways to be fucked over by aliens.

He still remembered the time a Codex had teleported right onto him, leading to approximately three solid minutes of wrestling with a half-naked digital woman with a robot head, which _really_ should've been a lot hotter than it sounded, but it wasn't.

"Joshua, are you smoking?" Xenon called out from his spot in the chair. Deciding to try his hand at lying to the skeletal fucker, Stoner put on his best 'innocent voice' and gave a response.

"Nope! I follow all the rules here!" He said.

"I can clearly smell the smoke!" Xenon shouted back. "If you're going to smoke, at least have the decency to share!"

Stoner raised an eyebrow. Why an immobile bag of bones wanted to smoke weed was anyone's guess, but he supposed he could oblige. Or at least, he would have, if a basket hadn't skidded to a halt at his feet. He could hear the sounds of Alpha Squad's resident archenemies, Task Force 141, an aisle over, and the noise really didn't sound like the happy kind of noise.

Probably better than the noises he usually heard from Alicia and Welkin. Deciding to put the Fornicating Duo out of his mind, he bent down, picked up the basket, and began looking through the contents. An old military jacket, some _very_ high quality weed, he'd be taking that, thank you very much, and...porn.

Specifically, twelve DVD cases worth of Alexis Texas' pornographic filmography. Stoner stared at one of the cases and decided that maybe, just _maybe_ , Task Force 141 wasn't so bad after all. Footsteps behind him shook him out of his reverie, just in time for the voice of one William Dawson to pierce his thoughts.

"What'cha got there, Stoner?" The question was rather rhetorical, considering that Dawson plucked the DVD case in question out of his hands. "Doing some shopping, I see." The grizzled man said, taking a moment to admire the woman on the case.

"Ah, this ain't my shopping bag, boss." Stoner replied.

"Uh huh." Dawson said, giving him the kind of look that said "come on, just admit it's yours, it'll be less painful". The hippie refused to give in and gestured at the other eleven DVDs in the basket. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she's _hot_ boss, but if I was gonna grab this kind of thing, I'd be a bit more subtle about it."

"Telling you, man. It ain't me this time." Josh said. "Though I'm taking the weed." He added, pocketing the material in question for emphasis. "Have the others found what they're looking for?"

"What's the rush? You eager to go home and 'enjoy' your movies?" Dawson asked, giving him a teasing smile.

"For the last time man, they ain't mine-"

Stoner and Dawson were interrupted by Roach rounding the corner at top speed, snatching the basket out of Stoner's arms and continuing his run. "Thanks for holding that gotta go bye!" He shouted, just as Ghost came around the corner, sans mask and looking like he was gonna kill someone.

"...Okay, I guess those videos _weren't_ yours." Dawson said. Turning in the general direction of Xenon, he spoke up a bit. "Hey, Xenon! Where can a man find some high quality porn involving _actual humans_?"

"Go into the next section and follow the 'funny stains'! But don't add to them!" Xenon replied, sounding a bit too amused at what Dawson presumed to be the sight of Ghost chasing Roach around to get his hands on porno DVDs.

"And where do I find the good weed?" Stoner asked.

"Use your hippie instincts!" Xenon shouted back.

Turning to follow his leader, Stoner quickly caught up to Dawson. "So...should we collect the others and be on our way?"

"Nah." Dawson said. "Alicia and Welkin probably aren't done fucking in the darkest, quietest corner they could find."

"And you want to give them time to _finish_?" Stoner asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I'm pretty sure Crown is still grabbing everything he can carry and then some in the 'explosives and ammo' section of the Emporium. Might wanna take your time sampling the goods in the weed section, we'll probably be here another three hours."

"Crown doesn't take _that_ long." Stoner responded.

"Oh my god! I'm in heaven!" The man in question shouted, voice echoing across the Emporium. "I never wanna leave this place!"

"I take that back." The hippie said.

Dawson chuckled.

"I hate Sundays." Xenon muttered to himself, watching as Ghost and Roach trashed the check-out line.

"I hate 'em too." Price said, groaning at the pitiful sight of his squad.

...

**_And Bonus Epilogue Feat. Miney McMineFace_ **

A badly dressed man with nothing better to do walked towards the strange, rickety door. Now, he really should've just turned around and left, but he was a man on a mission. He would sell his product, and he would sell it to as many people as he could. Thus, he ignored his instincts telling him to rather urgently _go in the other fucking direction_ and stepped up to the entrance.

The ratty, battered welcome mat barely had the letters visible through the layers of mud, blood, shit, and basically every other substance that could be tracked in, excreted, expelled or spilled in existence, but he didn't notice this, since his IQ was currently hovering somewhere between "Horny Bradford" and "Keebler Elf". Straightening his cheap, plaid suit and tawdry hat usually seen on batty old ladies named Agnes, he put on a personable smile and knocked.

There was a click.

A moment after that, there was the sound of someone leaving the mortal coil at explosive velocity.

"No, thank you! We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!" Xenon shouted.

"You _really_ hate solicitors, don't you?" The Commander asked.

"They're right up there with the Elders, people who talk at the theater and overly political grandmas on the 'people I hate' list." Xenon replied. "But enough of that, here, have a sock, on the house!"

...

_All I want is everything_

_Yes everything too much is not enough_

_I'm sick of settling for in between_

_And I'm not givin' up_

_As long as it feels right_

_At least we know that we're alive_

_All I want is everything, yes everything, yeah_

_Whoa-oh, whoa-oh_

_\- Victoria Justice_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is completely unaltered from it's previous posting, for various reasons, up to and including it being perfect the way it is. 
> 
> Probably. 
> 
> I'll get around to doing something a tad more new whenever I find the inspiration for it.


	6. The Tale of Rookie Chryssalid Chow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Uncle Bradford told me this one when he was babysitting me some years ago. I've remembered it quite well, because that was about the time he started gesticulating wildly and fell off a ladder. On a related note, screams like that really carry."
> 
> (Timothy The Rookie learns the hard way that Chryssalids are legitimate threats.)

_**...And That's Why They're So Cheap** _

//

His name was Timothy. His last name didn't matter, only his first.

They called him the Rookie. Rook for short.

He was the new meat, the new guy. He'd been given what every rookie before him had been given.

Basic armor, a basic rifle, a nanovest and a grenade.

He'd been told to follow his leader into battle, and he did.

Central Officer Bradford, XCOM's second-in-command, who'd taken up the mantle of Commander when the leader of the organization had sacrificed themselves to ensure those underneath them would survive the attack that had toppled XCOM.

But today was different, today, XCOM would be reborn. Today, XCOM would show ADVENT that they still lived, that they would have their revenge. And he would be at the tip of the spear, leading the charge.

For he was the Rookie. He would not be denied his righteous place as one of XCOM's best. One day, he would be just like Central Officer Bradford, or perhaps Lily Shen, or even the Commander themself.

That is, if he survived the next thirty seconds.

There were five Chryssalids in front of the Rookie, charging his position. He knew what he had to do.

He drew his grenade, pulled the pin. Whispered a brave oath to the oncoming horde.

"You're in the wrong neighborhood, motherfuckers."

He threw the grenade. It soared through the air like a leaf on the wind, or, more accurately, like a fat kid on a trampoline. Because, as it turned out, The Rookie had bad aim, and an even worse throw.

Which was why the grenade that soared into the air did not in fact, land in a spot for MAXIMUM EFFECT as he had hoped. It landed in the back of the alien ranks and detonated with only minor damage to the heels of the Chryssalids.

Which, by the way, were about to lunge at him.

The Rookie drew his gun. His finger squeezed the trigger.

The shots missed.

A second later, the Chryssalids were upon him, and Timothy did what all Rookies did best.

He died. Messily.

Timmy fucking died.

...

Central set down his drink, the bottle was empty, as one would've expected from someone who drank like a fish and had the tolerance of a sailor.

"Anyways, the moral of the story is that tactical advances in the other direction are always an option if shit hits the fan. There's no such thing as a retreat, there's just a hurried charge back to base. After that, I lost like, five thousand points from the magical floating bean counter in the sky, so I had to rebalance the budget by killing me some Chryssalids. There I was, out of ammo, with only a half-full bag of crack left in the inventory..."

By this point, his audience was enraptured, not from the badassery of the story (though that was a part of it), but from the fact that John Bradford had, over the course of two hours and four bottles of _incredibly_ cheap wine, somehow managed to go from telling a story about surviving the fall of XCOM to bitching about having to kill a whole horde of Chryssalids with a bag of drugs and an empty gun.

From her spot by the campfire, Jane turned to the Commander and whispered a few words.

"He's fucking nuts."

The Commander gave their girlfriend a little smile, and whispered some words back.

"Of course I know he's fucking loony, I've known him since tenth grade!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...short stories, or at least, short-ish stories, tend to not follow the 'musically themed chapter' rule. Same goes for a certain subseries starring Central, whenever I feel confident enough about uploading that one. 
> 
> Personally, I prefer longer stories, but whatever. 
> 
> Also, mostly unaltered from the original.


	7. Alien Diplomacy 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To my delight and occasional dismay, Claptrap kept records of everything that happened on the ship. Including a particularly detailed record on the first meeting of the Templars and the Skirmishers, which was...enlightening. Very, very enlightening."
> 
> (In which Bradford supervises a meeting, Geist has a crush, and Betos likes the attention.)

Today was the day.

Now, it was not, in fact, the day in which someone claimed that this was what they were waiting for to the tune of an epic guitar riff, but it may very well have been as Jonathan Q. Bradford struggled to metaphorically set the table and prepare the meeting room for the arrival of the two Resistance factions the Commander had recently recruited into the fold.

Honestly, managing the Resistance was like herding cats, except cats were more cooperative. And nicer.

But Bradford was a man on a mission, and that mission was to facilitate the diplomatic first contact of the Skirmishers and the Templars with as much skill as he possibly could manage, because he alone among XCOM's senior staff was able to do so, what with The Commander laid up in the infirmary after using a Stun Lancer as a landing pad on the most recent mission. And well, no one wanted to pry Lily away from that thing she was doing in engineering and god help you if you interrupted Tygan doing his "super secret research", which was probably code for "I'm stuffing my face with burgers and there's nothing you can do about it".

Not that he knew about that part.

Given how the _last_ meeting of Resistance members had gone, with Volk and Betos sharing very barbed words, Bradford decided today would be a good day if the meeting didn't end in a gunfight. Like that one time with the havens in Turkey, which was an incident best summed up as 'Claptrap doing Claptrap things'.

And thus, when the time of the meeting came, Bradford quietly memorized the location of the nearest exit and had a loaded gun on hand.

Just in case.

...

Betos, leader of the Skirmishers, first of the Liberated, and part-time protégé of The Commander themself, was not so much nervous as she was apprehensive. After all, it wasn't every day one attempted to meet a fellow Resistance leader in a world where trust was a luxury, and not a freely-given one at that.

She'd arrived at the Avenger with little fanfare, a squad of Skirmishers at her back. She was brought to the meeting room by Central Officer Bradford, who, as she noted, seemed a bit more nervous today than he usually was. But she supposed that given the _last_ meeting of leaders, he had every right to be nervous. Volk was still not talking to her.

Much, anyways.

And thus, when the door opened and another figure with an entourage of his own stepped through, she braced herself for any number of insults, harsh words or general hatred for her kind. Her fellow Skirmishers tensed up ever so noticeably, no doubt ready to leap to her defense as the lead figure came level with her.

What happened next was...different. Very different.

...

Geist, Leader of The Templars, Master of Psionics, ex-XCOM Psychiatrist and possibly the least known member of XCOM like, ever, did not so much arrive on the Avenger as so much did he _happen_.

Because things like ships and trucks and vehicles in general were rather primitive, the man, and his entourage, instead showed up at the appointed time in a flash of psionic light, teleporting to the Avenger at the coordinates XCOM's leader had so graciously provided.

Bradford looked surprised, to say the least. But because he was a smart man, or at least, a not-so-dumb one, he got over that surprise and guided Geist to the meeting room. He was...bored, actually. Bradford was poor company, the man focused on being _political_ and _diplomatic_. Pity the Commander was resting up in the infirmary, he would've very much liked to talk with his old leader and have some _fun_ company.

Bradford opened the door. Geist and his men stepped through. And Geist's heart skipped a beat.

There was a woman in the room. Well, there were several women in the room, but whatever. The point is, the one at the head of the group, who had been the first to notice their presence, was staring at him. Golden eyes glowed like...like something. A fruit, maybe, or maybe the sun. The leader of the Templar's mind was short-circuiting as he looked upon her.

And so, when he spoke, it was not, in fact, the carefully prepared diplomatic greeting the Leader of The Templars should've said.

It was what Geist, who, despite the amnesia and twenty years of leading his own organization, was still XCOM through and through, would've said. Which was-

"I like your butt."

-that.

...

Bradford cringed.

Actually, he didn't just cringe. He stiffened up too. Honestly, now would've been a good time for a gunfight to break out, because _what the fuck_ Geist had been thinking was beyond him. Why, oh why was it him who had to supervise these damn things, curse The Commander and their insistence on going out into the field-

"Thank you." Betos said, inclining her head towards Geist and giving a small smile. "I've been working hard on it."

"I too, could work hard on it." Geist responded. Somewhere behind him, a Templar facepalmed, while another one bravely stifled laughter. "I would be honored to work on an ass such as yours."

This was not happening. This was _not_ happening right now. Bradford was _not_ witnessing horrific, raunchy flirting at a meeting of Resistance leaders. He was not. He was not-

"I would appreciate that very much." Betos replied, oblivious to the fact that her entire Skirmisher entourage were now mirroring the looks on the faces of their Templar counterparts. "Perhaps we should put that on the docket for today's agenda?"

"Yes, yes we should." Geist said, eagerness permeating his voice. "Put it right at the top."

"I find this rearranging of the meeting's schedule to be very agreeable with me." Betos said, touching Geist's arm and drawing him closer to her. "Perhaps we can begin right now?"

"Okay..." Bradford said, deciding that he'd lost control of the situation a long time ago and that the best solution was damage control. "Everybody else out, let's give them some space!" He shouted, running for the door. Templar and Skirmisher envoys alike tumbled over themselves in their haste to leave their leaders alone with each other.

...

"I could not have predicted this outcome, though it is intriguing." Tygan said. "Most intriguing."

"I hate my job." Bradford muttered, uncorking a bottle of cheap wine and lifting it to his mouth.

"Look on the bright side." Lily said. "At least they're getting along!"

"From the sounds of it, they're doing a lot more than _getting along_." Melissa said.

"Huh." Lily said, as Bradford groaned and slumped onto the bar. "I could've sworn I fixed that pipe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muse still isn't cooperating with me on a "big" story for this work just yet. But I do have some ideas regarding a followup to I'm The One With The Ghosts In My Bed.


	8. Totally Not Kitty Pryde: A Warlock Short Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Uncle Julian is the kind of guy who lies half of the time and tells truths so far-fetched they might as well be lies. I'm still not sure which one this is."
> 
> (The Warlock suffers a humiliating defeat. A really, really, really humiliating defeat.)

//

The Warlock was not having a good day.

To be fair, it was kind of hard to have a good day when his daily routine, described by his brother as "Warlocking", was interrupted by a surprise visit from the resident savage dissidents, XCOM. Now, normally, this was the part where he matched their visit with one of his own, which would hopefully be ended in a swift, glorious battle that exalted the Elders with a victory over the rebels.

After a moment spent assessing his current predicament, stuck in-between floors due to losing his concentration mid-teleport, the Warlock concluded that he was neither exalting the Elders nor being bathed in glorious victory.

"The gods elevate me..." Said the Warlock, putting on his best, most arrogant voice.  _ Salvage the pride, Warlock. Salvage the pride. _ Came the inner voice in his mind's eye. If he could just muster enough psionic energy to get out of his current predicament and flee the battlefield with his magnificent self intact, he'd be satisfied with the day's activities.

The gunfire faded, and there were footsteps somewhere behind him. Inwardly, the Warlock smiled. His ADVENT subordinates had come to rescue him! They'd cut him free of the floor and he'd be able to exact his revenge on XCOM. No doubt they were fleeing in terror this very moment! He would bring righteous justice upon the dissidents and-

-And his boots came off.

There was confusion in the Warlock's mind. Perhaps his soldiers were prying his armor off to simplify the matter of cutting him free?

"Tickle tickle tickle!"

Robotic fingers touched his feet, attempting to 'tickle' him. While it had no effect on the Elder's Greatest Champion, after a solid minute of having his feet touched by the inane robot calling himself "King Julian", the Warlock decided he'd had enough of the day's events and, with what little strength he had left, pulled his Disruptor Rifle to his side and shot himself.

//

"What. The fuck. Was  _that?"_ Said Jonathan Q. Bradford. "Really? That's what the Resistance movement to save the fucking world thinks is appropriate battle action?" 

"You know, for a guy who goes to insanely epic lengths to protect a sweater, you take the idiotic stunts of others poorly." The Commander said.

"I need a fucking drink." Bradford said. "I need a big, big fucking drink." XCOM's Central Officer moved away from the hologlobe and shuffled off to the nearby fridge he'd had installed expressly for the purposes of drinking when XCOM's stunts became a little  _ too _ over the top, even for XCOM. "This shit wouldn't have happened back at the old XCOM."

"Is someone forgetting that time he locked Big Sky in a closet and stole the keys to the Skyranger so he could consummate his love with said sweater?" The Commander said in a sing-song voice. Ignoring his long-time friend from high school, Bradford pulled out a six-pack, set said container of beer down on the hologlobe, pulled a can free and began drinking.

"It's times like this I wish Jane wasn't in the medbay." The Commander said, mind wandering over to their beloved Ranger. "But then again, lightsabering a Sectopod is a reward all on it's own."

//

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With regards to this fandom, I'd say I'm back, but I'd really rather not, considering that my muse absolutely refuses to do literally _anything_ with regards to XCOM and the writing fire for said series kind of burned out and never quite came back. Take what you can get.


	9. Of Questionable Landing Sites And Other Weird Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As I've determined from a number of car rides done when my parents were indisposed, Aunt Melissa _really_ hates it when people attempt to switch the music in any vehicle she's driving. I presume this is some kind of rule instituted before the Elders came, or maybe she's just very particular about her music choices."
> 
> (The one where Timothy the Rookie learns that one does not simply try to change the Skyranger's music.)

//

It is, to the surprise of many, that no one really freaks out when a burst of fire and a set of strange, blue flares appear at random in the middle of a crowded ADVENT city center. Now, one would've expected some form of yelling and maybe a cry for help, followed by a horde of ADVENT descending on the area, but there was none.

Possibly because the people in question who  _ had _ been around when the flares appeared were busy on their phones, checking social media and texting and doing anything  _ except _ being aware of their surroundings.

Now, there was a reason for the rather inconvenient location of the flares.

You see, earlier in the day, one Melissa Gaskarth, codename Firebrand and pilot of the Skyranger, had been rather pissed off when a rookie, who shall be called "Timothy" for posterity's sake, had mistakenly attempted to change the genre playing on the Skyranger's music system.

You see, said music playing was Ozzy Osbourne, the absolute be-all-end-all favorite of Melissa. And she very much liked to change the music herself, and not because some nobody who thought he was the next Rambo attempted to do so. Particularly when the 'other choice' was  _ DJ Khaled _ .

DJ Khaled was  _ not _ the kind of music Melissa liked. Or the Commander, or for that matter,  _ anyone _ aboard the Avenger. Not even the Skirmishers, and a good chunk of those guys thought the likes of NSYNC and BTS were the pinnacle of musical talent.

In case one hadn't noticed, this little fuck-up of Timothy's was why the landing zone for the extraction of the squad on the ground, referred to as "The All Rookie Suicide Squad", was rather inconvenient for them. You see, as much as Melissa would've liked to strap X4 to Timothy and throw him over the side, the mission was an 'extract this motherfucker and bring him back to do motherfucking things' type, not a 'kill everything in sight and then some' type.

That, and Lily would've been kind of disappointed in her. That was the bigger factor.

Thus, when the comm erupted with the sound of gunfire, screaming and Berserker roaring, Melissa didn't budge from her spot. When the ground team, with one VIP in tow, came into sight, being chased by a naked pair of Berserkers, the most she did was drop the ropes and open the door. One guy on his phone groused about the strange things that just appeared to ruin his selfie, but otherwise didn't give a shit.

If the ground team made it aboard, Melissa would consider Timothy's penance paid.

And hey, maybe he'd think twice about touching her stuff.

//

"Commander, shouldn't you intervene?" Bradford was starting to feel a headache coming on.

"Nope!" The Commander said, munching on popcorn.

To the disappointment of everyone else in the All-Rookie-Suicide-Squad, Timothy made it back.

He was, however, quietly assigned to 'guard duty' until further notice.

For his safety, of course.


	10. Team Advent Is Blasting Off Again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I can't tell if that's my mom who accomplished that feat, or someone else who hasn't stepped up to claim responsibility despite my inquiries. She certainly seems happy enough to take credit for the whole-shebang when asked, probably because it's so patently ridiculous that no one else could possibly take credit for it."
> 
> (An ADVENT Priest learns to fly.)

//

For lack of a better word, the ADVENT Priest was  _ fucked _ .

Now, in better circumstances, this would've meant something completely inappropriate and far more pleasant, but as these were not better circumstances, the definition of "fucked" currently meant something along the lines of "about to die".

The stasis field wore off, and the ADVENT Priest did what all things did best when they were about to die.

He ran.

Muscles coiled, tensed and released with the speed and accuracy of an alcoholic man-child beelining for a sweater older than half the people currently on that battlefield, and the ADVENT Priest took off at a run.

Or, at least, that's what he tried to do.

You see, at that very moment, a Ranger was patiently standing next to him, waiting for the field to wear off. Said Ranger was his reason for running, after all. The good thing about Stasis was that you were protected from harm, the bad news was that you couldn't move, which meant that if said harm decided to show some manners and wait patiently for you to come out of the Stasis, well, you were fucked, and not in a good way.

Which was unfortunate for the Priest, really, because the Ranger standing next to him was undoubtedly going to get fucked in the  _ good _ way once this barbecue-gone-wrong was over.

In any case, the Ranger did what he (or she) did best, and drew a sword and swung. As the laws of physics dictated, each reaction had an equal and opposite reaction, and as a result of the sword being swung, the Priest did what most people, save for overly muscular aliens named "Krogan", did when they were stabbed.

He died.

Then, whether because the metaphorical chessboard had given up on the rules of the game entirely or because of the fact that he was running and conjuring up psionic energy to power that run at the same time, the Priest was launched into the air. Far, far up into the air. So far, in fact, that to the longcoat-clad Reaper hiding way behind enemy lines, she could almost see a twinkle in the sky from where he'd gone.

And, as all things did when they went up, he came back down. Eventually.

Right on the Speaker, who did not appreciate the anime-style glomping one bit.

//  


Rumor among ADVENT Forces has it that a man known only as "Middle Officer Stanford" once massacred the staff of an entire ADVENT facility to get back a cotton-green sweater taken from his boyfriend in that period of time before the Elders came down to Earth to gift it salvation. Some would dismiss the rumors as false, but considering XCOM did weirder things in the name of fighting the Elders, up to and including flooding the ADVENT Forge with nineteen metric tons of tapioca, getting into a fistfight with a _Sectopod,_ and hacking fourteen Signal Towers to play a loop of  _Never Gonna Give You Up_ across six different regions, and somehow managing to kill the Archon King with a half-broken ballpoint pen and the unluckiest gopher that ever existed, most were inclined to believe the zany rumor when they heard it.

No one knows the identity of the Ranger who invented ADVENT Cannonballs, partially because XCOM has a lot of Rangers and partially because a lot of those Rangers got laid after the battle. At this point, it's just best to call it a group effort and leave the task of discovering the inventor's name to the historians.

ADVENT attempted to claim the incident was an assassination attempt, right up until it occurred to them that said body was one of their own. So, they did the next best thing and claimed it was an "accident" during a "training exercise". The Speaker recovered and returned to duty about two months later, not because of the injuries, no, those were healed in a week, but because he developed a severe fear of the outdoors and refused to step outside without full body armor and an umbrella made out of alien alloys, which, given that his job involved going outdoors, restricted him to 'hospital-side' reaching out sessions, something that worked until the camera was accidentally turned on in the middle of a "self-maintenance" session.

Public opinion of ADVENT took a steep decline after that.


	11. Yo Bro, Like, No: A Warlock Short Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This little tidbit of information was recovered after a foray by an ill-fated scouting team into the Warlock's HQ. Even I'm not sure what happened."
> 
> (Graphics glitches, among other things. Oh my!)

//

The Warlock gazed upon the strange creature in his sanctum.

It looked...tangled. Like, the sort of tangled you got when you had to take colored lights out of the box during the holidays and you hadn't touched said lights for the better part of a year. And it was moving, in an  _ alive _ sort of moving, which was frankly, quite freaky.

The Warlock had gazed upon many horrors in his life. But this...this was something far worse than anything he'd ever seen. This was not a horror conjured by one of XCOM's weapons. This...this horror was  _ natural _ . In the mess of malformed flesh and cloth, he saw the hallmarks of XCOM in the malestrom. A plasma rifle, colors only sported by the miscreants, and of course, a patch announcing the allegiance of the mobile organic holiday lights.

And it was moving. Towards him.

The Warlock, Champion of the Elders, Psionic God, Prelate, Leader of the ADVENT Priesthood, Bane of the Templars, and the finest of all the Chosen, decided there was only one thing to do.

Abandon stronghold.

//  


Humming a jaunty tune to himself, The Hunter strode into his sanctum. He was having a good day. Sure, he'd gotten his ass kicked by XCOM,  _ again _ , and more humiliatingly so by the infernal piece of untzing machinery calling itself "Claptrap", but he'd managed to get in a good shot on his old rival Outrider, and the sight of her toppling over from a well-placed stun dart was something that made him smile.

Admittedly, he hadn't been able to exploit the opening before the aforementioned yellow-one-wheeled-beatboxing-freakazoid dropped a building on him, but whatever. He'd had worse days. Like that one time he'd been run over by a hijacked Sectopod, courtesy of someone calling herself "Tiny Tina".  _ That _ was humiliating.

"Greetings, brother."

In an instant, The Hunter had his rifle out, zeroed in on the threat...or rather, his brother. Lowering the rifle, The Hunter put a hand on his hip and did his best to sound 'friendly', which frankly, sounded more like 'constipated'. "And what brings you to my humble abode, brother? I do wish you'd called ahead, I would've had a chance to tidy up."

"A horror of unspeakable proportions has brought me here." The Warlock said, a grave tone in his voice. "XCOM has begun to field new units...ones far more terrifying than their current brand of miscreants."

"And what could that possibly be?" The hooded Chosen drawled, watching as The Warlock summoned a field of psionic energy and began to project something, a memory, if he had to guess, onto it.

"This horrific creature..." Began the Warlock, "Invaded my sanctum."

The Hunter drew back from the sight. Clearly, something was very wrong with the figure in the image. No human could ever bend like that naturally, and he'd learned their limitations from years of 'experimenting' with captured prey. Which meant two things, either XCOM had somehow acquired operatives with flexibility beyond what was naturally possible, or a new threat had arisen, and frankly, he was hoping it was the former. He could deal with XCOM. But if something else had thrown itself into the ring...

The Hunter shook himself free of those thoughts. "I believe we should make preparations to deal with such a creature." He began, looking rather concerned, for show, of course, it wouldn't do to  _ not _ be theatrical in front of the psionic. For his part, the Warlock nodded assent, beginning to mumble to himself about how to best tear the strange organism apart with his psionics.

Inwardly, The Hunter was delighted. Whatever this creature was, it had spooked the Warlock and he would take any advantage he could get over his brother. But for now...he'd play nice.

Probably.

//


	12. You've Got Mail!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Neither of my parents are very willing to talk about anything related to the Assassin, the name used by the Elders to refer to the mutated, brainwashed Annette Durand, of whom is my namesake. The recollection detailed here was pieced together from security footage, defected ADVENT Purifiers, and a stolen report on the matter, recovered from the Assassin's stronghold."
> 
> (ADVENT attempts public outreach, for whatever good that does.)

//

This was beneath the Assassin.

To be fair, many things were beneath the Assassin, but she was in no position to debate the matter, after all, she was subservient to the Elders, and if they desired she pull her attention away from XCOM to oversee a 'minor project' of theirs, then that's what she would do.

In the street below, an ADVENT Trooper knocked on a door. A minute later, a civilian, a human woman, if the Assassin was correct, opened it. The trooper's assistant, a fellow trooper, to be exact, held up a box with air holes. The woman smiled, took the package, signed the accompanying slip and handed it back to them.

The door shut.

Mentally, the Assassin began counting.  _ Five...four...three- _

A piercing scream shook the air. A moment later, a squadron of purifiers came out of nowhere and promptly began to torch the house.

//  


_ ADVENT Research Report #357A _

_ Attempts to domesticate Chryssalids to market them to the civilian populace as part of Project CUDDLEBUG have proven unsuccessful. Test audiences report Chryssalids have a ninety-five percent chance to instead eat the potential owner and implant them, creating more Chryssalids, ultimately causing an infestation and requiring Purifier deployment to sanitize affected region. Recommend Chryssalid possession remain limited to ADVENT military forces. _

_ Addendum: The five percent 'not being eaten' chance was observed from 'psionic' members of the test audience, who proved far too valuable to remain in the program and have since been recruited and assigned to Project AVATAR. _

_**The Assassin's Notes:** We were lucky the Chryssalid delivered to the recipient was overeager this time. My brother Warlock barely managed to contain the last outbreak, and even then, he lost half his forces in the containment attempt, and he is still rooting out pockets of infected in that region. Thankfully, this incident has left no casualties, save for a single human female whose death serves the cause by giving us the information I forward to you, blessed Elders. _

_//_


	13. What The Hunter Was Thinking, We'll Never Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aunt Lily was _way_ too happy to tell me this story, which speaks volumes as to the dynamics of XCOM, back in the day."
> 
> (The Hunter does a thing, Bradford and company take advantage, and Lily surprisingly doesn't kill anyone.)

//

It was a bright, sunny September morning when the Hunter decided that it was time to sabotage the Avenger.

Now, one would've expected said sabotage to come in the form of traditional means like blowing things up, or shooting someone important, and to be fair, he had tried those methods, both of them, in fact. The problem was, they didn't really work for long, or on XCOM, for that matter. He wasn't allowed to shoot the Commander (on pain of extremely bloody death), and he wasn't allowed to blow up the Avenger (because that might lead to the death of the Commander, and the aforementioned extremely bloody death he'd been promised).

So he'd had to get creative.

He'd poisoned food, it hadn't worked because apparently, the person cooking the food (one Middle Officer Stanford) butchered it so badly it was probably poisoned anyways. He'd destroyed ammo, which had resulted in Psionics and Templars coming out to play, which had resulted in a frankly horrendous week for him. He was, after all, Brittle and not Mentally Sound. (How someone with a constitution as strong as his ended up being brittle was a mystery for the ages, and although he didn't know it, somewhere out there, a man named Solomon was laughing.)

He'd once blown up all of XCOM's toilet paper. That had arguably been the most effective method, keeping the organization's forces inside for two weeks, even causing them to miss a Retaliation strike (to his delight), and he would've tried it again, if it wasn't for the fact that XCOM had gotten turrets installed on their ship. Big turrets, and lots of them, which would tear him a new one if he tried getting close.

And to be fair, he didn't really enjoy trying the same thing twice. It was repetitive, and demonstrative of a lack of imagination on his part, falling back on old tactics, and more importantly, once you did something, the enemy would come up with a way to counter it.

For example,  _ Psionic Toilet Paper _ was a thing now, and he wasn't sure if he was disgusted with the invention or if he should start using it himself.

Which was probably why he hadn't beaten the Commander just yet. That lunatic was finding new and inventive ways to run circles around ADVENT every single day. As inventive as the Hunter was, he had to admit, ordering someone named "Tiny Tina" to hijack a Sectopod and crash it into an ADVENT Blacksite's power generator to destroy the facility  _ was _ a truly innovative tactic.

So, he'd had to come up with tactics of his own, new ones, inventive ones that would have the Commander scrambling to counter him. Only then would he be able to capture XCOM's leader, take Earth for himself and send his siblings to the dark holes they belonged in.

Which was why, after much time spent among Codices, he found a single, tiny gap in the Avenger's electronic defenses. Unfortunately, the gap was so small he couldn't download anything, but he could upload if he wanted.

Which is exactly what he did. The Hunter decided the solution to the issue of XCOM flying around in a fancy ship with fancy computer systems was to simply overload the computer systems, and so he did what any sane, rational Chosen with an ego the size of Mars would do.

He uploaded porn. A lot of it, so much of it that it should have, by all rights, caused the ship's systems to crash, leaving it vulnerable for an attack while XCOM's technicians scrambled around, trying to reboot the system.

Alas, that was not the case.

//  


"Guys, someone's uploading porn to the Avenger's databanks." Gary "Roach" Sanderson said.

"Really?" Sitting next to him with an excited expression on his face, Simon "Ghost" Riley began scrolling through the files being uploaded, and clicked on one of them. What came up was best described as "wrong".

Very, very wrong. So wrong, in fact, that Roach really should've just shot the computer screen and asked Shen or someone who knew what to do with computers to shut down the WiFi. Except...the material presented was of high quality.  _ Very _ high quality, it was almost like someone had gone out of their way to send XCOM premium porn, and a lot of it.

Roach did what he should've done a while ago. He got Soap. Soap, in turn, got Price.

And together, the four man task force did the one thing they should've done.

They distributed it.

Because there were so many files and they were decent people (sort of, as decent as you could get on a ship full of weirdos united by The Great Commandy One and a desire to kill tyrannic aliens), the hastily assembled porn-distributing task force simply began copying the files into emails and sending them off to whatever Haven address happened to autofill first.

They'd also, naturally, kept copies for their own use to share among the ship's crew. For science, after all, the videos might have been high quality, but  _ someone _ had to ensure it was of  _ good _ quality. Ah, the sacrifices the XCOM Project made to protect humanity.

This Breaking Bad-esque situation went on for about thirty minutes, which was how long it took John Bradford to put a stop to it. Had it been Lily Shen, the situation would've been shut down in about twenty seconds, alas, Lily was quite busy, doing 'things' of her own with Firebrand in the Skyranger, so the resident ill-tempered alcoholic was the one to discover the breach and deal with it.

And by 'deal with it', we mean he shut off the WiFi, locking the Hunter out and leaving the ship's computers filled with roughly four terabytes worth of Viper Porn.

Bradford, in the interest of dealing with the situation before Shen discovered the incident and killed everyone involved for their incompetence, took the porn into his possession after downloading the originals onto a frankly impressive number of flash drives. For safekeeping until he could properly dispose of it, of course.

And if he happened to not notice the soldiers making off with their own flash drives, no doubt filled with the torrid material, well, that was just the product of his age. And it was kind of late, after all. He could've just been seeing things.

It's not like anyone had to  _ know _ about this little incident.

//  


(Shen found out anyways. Surprisingly, she didn't kill anyone.)

//  


_ ADVENT Intelligence Report #89P13 to ADVENT High Command _

_ We would like to inform you that the most recent attempt to disable Priority Target "Avenger" via overloading it's systems with approximately five terabytes of Viper Porn has backfired spectacularly. XCOM Operatives far and wide loved our 'Electronic Warfare Package', distributing it amongst the Resistance and even naming a recent operation in honor of it. _

_ We recommend a switch to Faceless porn. Perhaps using a species that actually looks scary may be a more effective means of terrorizing our enemies. _

//  


_ RE: Faceless Porn - NO. NO. NO. We're not doing that. NO. Seriously. NO. - ADVENT High Command _

//

_**The Hunter's Notes:** I must admit, the reaction of XCOM in the face of being presented with pornography centered around Vipers was most interesting. I would've expected an organization such as theirs to be quite xenophobic. It seems as if they do not care who joins the organization, so long as they fight the Elders. Perhaps this is why our spies have reported the Skirmishers and XCOM possess an unusually tight rapport. _

_ I believe I will be sending a copy of my "Electronic Warfare Package" to my brother. In addition to the entertainment value of seeing someone of his stature throw a fit over the 'immoral material', I would like to see if he's prepared for an attack on his own systems. After all, he's starting to encroach on my territory, and if he doesn't get the hint and go down a peg or two, I might have to 'drop hints' that'll lead XCOM right to his doorstep. _

//  



	14. In Which The Hunter Plays Dodgeball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...The Hunter has always been considered an oddity amongst the ranks of the Elders. Probably because of stunts like this, which, while totally entertaining, are also totally weird."
> 
> (Because, for whatever reason it is, I seem to think that Elena is the kinda gal who needs to find love with aliens or something. I'd do something more up my alley with them, but I'm not sure about that. Yet.)

//

The Hunter, raised an eyebrow at the oncoming threat to his well-being.

A Lost Dasher.

Now, generally speaking, Lost weren't too much of a threat. They were, for all intents and purposes, zombies, and basically everyone who faced them, which generally tended to be either XCOM or ADVENT, knew how to fight them. The former had learned from binge-watching every single episode of the Walking Dead and playing enough Call of Duty Zombies to make even a hardcore gamer become a bit worried, and the latter had learned from this fascinating thing called 'wing it and see what happens'.

Semantics on 'how to kill your zombie' aside, the Hunter did what most people would do when something rushing them with an intent other than an overly passionate makeout session would do.

He dodged.

As the Dasher swung it's arms, a primal warcry bellowing from it in the process, the Hunter moved his limbs just so and evaded the clumsy, overly wild swing. It was an amateur's swing, though to be fair, Lost did not have the martial skill of his usual enemies. He almost found himself wishing for a real threat, like say, Jane Kelly or Steve Rogers. Going hand-to-hand with those two was always fun.

In any case, he couldn't help but boast as he struck out and defeated the Dasher with a single hit to the neck.

"I'm the best there is." The Hunter said with a grin.

And a half-second later, an Ultrasound Lure covered in duct tape landed on his back.

"You sure about that?" Came the voice of his old rival, Elena Dragunova.

Under most circumstances, he would've attempted to shoot her. Instead, the Hunter turned in the direction of the Reaper and gave a theatrical bow, uncaring about the horde that now ran at him like how teenage girls who spend too much time on Tumblr run at their boy band idols.

"How can I resist a challenge, my dear Elena? I shall strive to impress you." He said, coming out of his bow with a flourish and beginning to run.

Perhaps today would be a bit more fun than usual.

//  


"Please tell me that...thing does not have a crush on Outrider." Bradford said.

"Well, she did shoot him through his rifle's scope the other day." The Commander replied. "That might be a declaration of love in his culture."

"Didn't he use to be a Reaper or something?" Jane asked, raising her eyebrows at the sight of the Hunter leading the Lost on a truly merry chase around the city.

"That's what Volk says, though him telling you that is something you'd only hear after plying him with a metric fuckton of alcohol." Said the Commander.

Bradford sighed. "I hate that guy." He muttered.

"Which one?" The Commander asked.

"Both."

"Ah." Said the Commander, sagely. "You're in an _off-again_ phase, I see."

//


End file.
